


Lionheart

by CarlyChameleon



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe (1984), Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Allura vs. Zarkon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass Women, Character Development, Difficult Decisions, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Family Secrets, Female Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, Haggar/Cossack - Freeform, Lotor's mother - Freeform, Minor Allura/Keith (Voltron), Multi, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Political Alliances, Romelle/Sven, Slow Burn, War, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 84,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarlyChameleon/pseuds/CarlyChameleon
Summary: Pure, kind, and noble. No words fit Allura, Princess of Arus, better. Or so she believes until she strikes a seemingly harmless bargain with the Prince Imperial of Doom that will force her from the comforts of complacency into the dark heart of the Drule court and put those three words to the test.Uses elements from DotU and the Devil's Due comics. An eventual Lotor/Allura pairing, but with Keith/Allura friendly bits too. While the relationship between Allura and Lotor is a big part of the story, be advised that much of the focus goes to their individual development rather than jumping straight into anything romantic or sexual. Even when the mood does get there, past actions will never allow for a traditional happily ever after. This is not a darkfic, however, the plot does go to some dark, difficult places at times.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inevitable Disclaimer: Voltron, its characters, settings, and other concepts are property of/copyrighted by World Event Productions, Ltd., Toei Animation Company, and Devil's Due Publishing. I am affiliated with none of those and make no profit from this work of fiction except for nerdy joy. 
> 
> This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and I'm sure it'll show. Feel free to let me know what you think I'm doing wrong, what I might be doing right, or any thoughts you have in between that may improve this story. I tried to preserve a good deal of the original aspects to the characters and worlds, while bending or even breaking others. While I mention certain events from the DotU storyline, I plan to veer pretty far from the beaten path—this tale features the dreaded Lotor/Allura pairing, for example. There will also be some characters of my own creation showing up. Expect some strong language, violence, sexual situations (both healthy and questionable varieties), and hard-earned happiness. We may even hit some morally grey or dark patches. These things can happen in stories, I'm told. If you can live with all of that, then let's begin…

" _Dulath nakar._ Farewell."

She paused, gazing sadly at her swiftly fading patient. " _Dulath nakar_ ," she intoned. Taking a deep breath, she raised her scalpel, positioned it over her charge's midsection, and made the first incision.

" _Baylarn_. I am sorry, forgive me."

Tiny droplets of sweat started to bead her forehead. Not too deeply, she reminded herself. Cut to cure, not to kill. Her hand held steady as it guided the scalpel around a curve. Just a little more…

" _Baylarn_. I am sorry, forgive me." The soft female voice was a faint echo outside the realm of her concentration. Here came the critical part. If she didn't angle the blade properly she would damage the patient, the infection would spread, and all this would be for nothing. Scarcely daring to breathe, she bit her lip, said a silent prayer, and went to make the final cut.

A trio of brash buzzes shattered her focus halfway through. Her hand jerked and her pulse seized up as the scalpel scratched a jagged line across her patient's silvery-green bark.

"Damn it!" Allura cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide at her own outburst. She glanced around her sitting room, half-expecting Nanny or Coran to leap out from behind the drapes and give her an earful for her foul language.

"Incorrect answer," the contralto voice of the castle computer's AI scolded her in their stead. "Drule language program, section two, basic phrases, failed. Please resume the lesson from the beginning." 

Two failures in one. Setting down the scalpel with a groan, the princess of Arus looked down at her botched handiwork. She’d almost managed to cut away all the fungal growth plaguing her miniature virtis tree, but as Keith had so often reminded them during maneuvers, almost wasn’t good enough. Unless she removed all the sickly yellow nubs marring its trunk, more would spring up until it rotted inside and out. Of course, thanks to the computer’s interruption there would be a fresh rash of them all along the plant’s new scratch.

“Please resume Drule language program, section two, basic phrases, from the beginning.”

Ignoring the AI’s demands, she let her shoulders slump. She’d looked through every book, every computer file, and even had Coran contact a few botanists at the Arusian Bureau of Agriculture. None held an alternative answer to curing the fungus. Maybe Pidge could think of something, though plants weren’t the pilot of Green Lion’s area of expertise. Whatever the case, she had to do something. She’d had the small tree for fifteen years now—since her parents had surprised her with it on her fifth birthday. Back when all the Drule Empire had done was threaten, Voltron still slept, and they were a happy, whole family.

Losing their gift would be like losing them all over again.

Flicking back a few blonde wisps of hair that had plastered themselves to her forehead, Allura sighed and lifted the plant from her desk by its ceramic pot. She’d work on the problem tomorrow, once she’d had some rest. And, she hoped, when the weather cooled down a bit. Spring wasn’t quite over yet, but the summer was already promising to break temperature records. Luckily, her bedroom faced east, so it only caught the sun for half the day. Leaving the entrance to the terrace open to catch the evening breeze worked nearly as well as the air cooling systems too. Ailing tree in hand, she crossed over into her bedroom and out through the glass double doors.

“Please resume Drule language program, section two, from the beginning,” the computer nagged after her.

“All right, all right!” she snapped. “Just let me put this back outside.”

After setting the sickly virtis tree back on its wooden stand at one corner of the terrace, Allura took a minute to enjoy the cool evening air against her skin. Or at least what little skin her pink nightgown allowed to show: face, neck, hands, feet, and an oh-so-tantalizing glimpse of ankle. She really had to talk to Nanny about making some changes to her wardrobe. She was twenty now—her childhood governess had to realize that. Surely the woman would see reason and agree that it was high time for the princess of Arus to start wearing clothing that befit the dignity of her status. Something that had fewer bows and ruffles and didn’t make her feel like she hadn’t lost her baby teeth yet, in other words. 

Allura smiled drily at the pale, rising face of Arus’ largest moon. Yes, and maybe Zarkon would suddenly become a pacifist and send robeasts to plant flowers on her planet instead. Nanny would blow her prim white cap through the atmosphere as soon as the topic came up—the woman still had her reservations over the propriety of her “baby’s” favorite pink outfit. _It may not give away all the details, but it certainly lets them have the outlines_ , had been her famous quote from that battle. Shaking her head, Allura padded back into her bedroom. She’d throw down the gauntlet over dress code some other week. Maybe once she could get her cousin Romelle and Aunt Orla to visit and provide some back up. And yes, a little backbone too.

“Let’s get this over with. Computer, resume Drule language program, section two,” she said, heading for the desk in her sitting room again.

“Basic phrases,” the computer responded with what she swore was a hint of glee. “ _Ahdahn_. Hello.”

She started gathering the bits of removed fungus into a little pile on top of her desk to be thrown away. “ _Ahdahn_.”

“Actually, it’s AH-dahn—more emphasis on the first syllable. And hello to you too, my dear princess.”

Her heart dropped, then bounced back up like a rubber ball, wedging itself in the back of her throat. As though she were in one of the old horror movies Lance kept in his extensive film collection, Allura slowly turned to face the monster in her room.

His frame filled the doorway to her bedroom—not even Hunk was as broad. Just casually leaning against the jamb, he was tall enough for his head to nearly brush the top, the dimensions meant for someone of human proportions. It had always struck her as ironic that he hailed from such a dark planet yet his skin was the color of Arus’ summer sky. The night air wafting in from the terrace stirred his white hair, several long strands falling over his shoulders. He watched her with eyes as bright and gold as flame. Their slatted pupils widened to capture more light, similar to a cat’s stalking prey. Allura felt paralyzed by his gaze for a minute, her heart fluttering against her ribcage like a panicking bird.

He blinked, and the paralysis snapped, her sense returning. Shaking herself, she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Computer!” she shouted. “Sound the security al—”

How someone that large could move so swiftly and silently, she’d never understand. He’d crossed the sitting room by her third word. On the fourth, she felt his hand clamp over her mouth. The other gripped the back of her head, fingers burrowing into her bound hair. Her nose filled with the scent of fine leather from his glove with just a hint of machine oil, likely from the battle cruiser he had hidden somewhere in the woods nearby. He pressed in close, pushing her backside against the desk and cutting off escape. 

“I’m thrilled to see you as well, Allura. Though, for once I’d appreciate it if you offered me something to drink when I drop by. Sneaking across the castle grounds and scaling the wall to your room undetected is thirsty work,” Lotor, Prince Imperial of Doom, said. It was bad enough having to look at his trademark smirk filling up the castle control room’s comm screen, but in person it was even more galling, if smaller.

Allura jerked her head and released angry sounds against his glove. Tightening her hands into fists, she hammered them against his chest, trying to reach his face. It felt as if she were striking stone, and all she got for the effort were low chuckles.

That’s when she remembered the scalpel.

Making a mental note to thank Dr. Gourma twice over, Allura brought one hand behind her to grope along the top of the desk. The other she kept busy smacking away at Lotor in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice what she was up to. Her fingers bumped into the pile of severed fungus, some blank papers left over from earlier in the afternoon, and—there. Cold steel. She grasped the scalpel, praying the sharp end was facing out.

Eyes squeezed shut, she struck.

Something caught her wrist halfway through its flashing arc. Eyes snapping open, she saw it had been taken captive by Lotor’s grip. Stare locked with hers, he applied pressure until she thought her hand would swell up like a purple-red balloon, all circulation cut off. Allura watched, tears of frustration blurring her vision, as the scalpel began to slip from her numbing fingers.

“No…” she gasped.

Then gasped again when realization sparked in her mind: his hand no longer muffled her. She sucked in another breath, ready to scream to the computer to sound an alarm.

Unfortunately, carelessness wasn’t among Lotor’s many faults.

Her shouted command became a muted squeal as he sealed his lips to hers. Shock jolted through her, and the scalpel finally tumbled to the carpet. While he eased up on her wrist, he gave no quarter elsewhere. She tried to twist her head to one side or the other, but the hand that cradled the back of her skull kept her still while he kissed and even nibbled her tightly closed lips. It tickled, and she actually felt a crazy giggle bubble in her throat.

Just when her head started to swim from lack of air, he replaced his mouth with his palm once more. Breathing hard through her nose, Allura wished she were that hideous creature from an old film in Lance’s collection—the one that had snakes for hair and could turn people to stone with a look. Lotor would have been decorating a corner of the gardens within the hour. Better yet, smashed to so much gravel and scattered at the bottom of the lake around the castle.

Lotor returned her glare with a gleam in his eyes and an even more infuriating smile on his lips. “I’m going to remove my hand now. I trust you’ll behave and refrain from making a further fuss?”

In a way, it was fortunate he’d covered her mouth. She would have blushed to hear some of the words in her reply clearly and ruined the whole effect.

“Well then. I suppose I’ll have to kiss you until you see things my way, won’t I?”

Was there anything else on her desk to bash or stab him with? There was that heavy book on the founding of Arus, but it was too far back, out of her reach. A shame—nothing would have been more just than slapping her people’s tormentor across his smug face with their history.

Some of the humor drained out of Lotor’s expression, leaving it almost grave. “I’m here to talk, Allura. That should be harrowing enough without bringing your boy warriors and castle security into the equation.”

Talk! She’d heard that punchline before. When he’d first taken over the incursions against Arus, after he’d destroyed the bridge over the Chozzarai River, on Planet Tyrus during the whole birthday debacle—talk was always on the bottom of Lotor’s to-do list. Allura condensed her thoughts into a snort.

“I thought you might feel that way,” he said with a grim smile. “Allow me to phrase it differently then. Either we can talk in relative comfort like rational people, or I can find something to gag you with. It’s your choice.”

Though not a person quick to anger by nature, Allura felt a hot flare of resentment spike her blood pressure. He invaded her world, slunk into her room, manhandled her, and now thought he could issue ultimatums? She would teach him that there was always a third option.

But first she had to get him to let her go.

Releasing a sigh through her nose, Allura nodded with just the right amount of resignation. Life with Nanny had elevated her skill in that to an art form. Sure enough, inch by inch, Lotor moved his hand away. He kept his stare trained on her face, watching for any twitch of insurrection. She gave him the expected glare of moral outrage—anything less and he might have caught on. Like actors, they both had their roles: he the victorious villain, and she the defeated yet defiant damsel. If she played along he would never see what Lance called the twist ending.

At last Lotor gave her a little breathing space, literally and figuratively. With a causal air she didn’t trust for a second, he folded his arms across his chest.

“There. You and I standing in the same room like civilized, sentient beings. And look—the planet didn’t even stop turning.”

No, but its pollution levels had definitely risen. She made a point of wiping a sleeve across her lips. “You claim you came here to talk,” she said, putting the snooty, high-born lady tone Nanny had schooled her in to use for once. “So talk.”

He pressed a hand over his heart, expression a parody of sincerity. “Your enthusiasm is touching, Princess. But I suppose haste is called for. Your self-righteous brat bodyguards have an irritating habit of interrupting us.”

Despite the observation, Lotor took the time for a dramatic pause. Allura had to wonder how there could be enough space in one room to accommodate her, him, and his massive ego.

“I’ve come to the realization that I’ve been going about this the wrong way,” he went on, nonchalantly causing her thoughts to derail.

Allura replayed the words over and over, rearranging them in every possible combination, but her mind refused to absorb them. She had to resort to a rather high-pitched, “Excuse me?”

The way he set his jaw and slightly dilated his pupils was his version of looking uncomfortable she realized. “I once read the works of a particularly famous Terran scientist. A brilliant man—decades ahead of his time. He once defined insanity as repeating the same action yet expecting a different result. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been proving him right.”

In the absence of logical thought, emotion rushed in the fill the void. Allura’s expression froze over. “And what triggered this epiphany to strike exactly, hm? Seeing the faces of my people as your fleets and robeasts terrorize them? Watching our crops burn? Reducing our homes and businesses to smoldering rubble?”

His pupils widened a fraction more, but his gaze didn’t shy away from the challenge in hers. “Like many of my most important decisions, it was made with you in mind.”

A retort gushed up her throat like magma erupting from a molten core, but became lodged there, scorching, choking her. Did he expect her to, what? Feel flattered? Grateful? Or, following the crooked path his logic always took, did he blame her for his obsession? Either way, she wanted to disagree in terms of bare knuckles and cold metal. Terms even a barbarian like him couldn’t fail to grasp.

At least some of that desire must have been transcribed on her face because Lotor held up his hands in a universal gesture of concession. “Though your current opinions would never allow the idea to take root, I do care about you.”

She couldn’t help it. Allura laughed. A harsh, ringing sound like a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Lotor bore her show of scorn with the stoic grace of a martyr, waiting for her to wind down to giggles before continuing.

“That’s how I came to realize I’ve been using the wrong tactics when it comes to you.”

Tactics. As though she were a fortress to invade. The last traces of humor evaporated from her face.

“So you finally figured out that trying to own me like some limited edition collector’s item is a bad thing? And it only took you a little over an Arusian year. Congratulations.”

“It’s never been about having you, Allura.”

Words couldn’t express her contempt—at least not the clean kind. She solved the dilemma with a dignified huff.

Lotor’s brows drew down like a swooping white bird over his eyes. “If that were the case, I assure you, we wouldn’t be having this pleasant little chat. I’d be pinning you down on that adorable pink bed of yours and fucking you until the canopy collapsed on top of us.”

His words popped the illusion of relative safety she’d blundered into. The very real threat of him, his size, his nearness, his frank tone and gaze, swept over her. Allura felt her muscles petrify, cold dread trickling down her spine to gather in a frozen lump inside her guts. He was the second biggest threat to ever loom over Arus, the son of her father’s murderer and a killer himself, and obsessed with making her his. She needed to create an opportunity to drive him off, not pelt him with snarky quips all night.

“Point taken,” she said, voice carefully neutral and, she hoped, placating. “So what…tactics…are you planning to employ now?”

He studied her tripwire tense posture for several moments. “I’ve come to make a request,” he answered at last, mimicking her tone. “Not a demand, nor a threat. A request, plain and simple.”

 Keeping a tight leash on the sarcasm, she said, “Really?”

Her grip apparently hadn’t been firm enough because a small frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Allura, really. Starting tomorrow, I will feed information on the comings and goings of my father’s cargo freighters, his top military officials, the weaknesses of certain bases, and all manner of goodies the Alliance could only dream of. If, that is, you find my request agreeable.”

Allura caught her jaw before it fell open completely. Inside intelligence hand delivered by the Prince Imperial himself? That, as Lance would put it, was nothing to thumb her nose at. Assuming Lotor’s offer contained anything resembling truth. Her surprise matured into suspicion.

“What price tag comes attached to this generous offer?” Only five easy payments of her self-respect probably—insult to injury included.

Lotor looked away, out toward the velvety blue that had spread beyond her bedroom windows. The command for the computer to sound the alarm sprung to the tip of her tongue.

And teetered there, hesitating.

Not due to any actual interest in his hollow offer—she’d be out of her mind to entertain for a second that he might risk treason and change his ways for anything, let alone some harmless favor. It was just that he still stood within arm’s reach. He needed to be farther away. More preoccupied. 

Or maybe…well, maybe if she heard him out—pretended to, of course—and acted like she agreed to his mad request, he would leave quietly. Then she could alert the rest of the castle. Perhaps the Voltron Force could capture him before he got off world in the bargain. Yes. Yes! His intrusion turned into a victory for Arus. An example of making the best of a terrible situation if she’d ever heard one.

“I want you to give me a chance.”

Lotor’s voice, almost a sigh, caught her midway through her mental pat on the back. Allura jumped a little, her plot fraying at the seams. “I…you what?”

His eyes flicked over to rendezvous with hers before they darted back to the window. “Information to thwart my father’s operations in exchange for you and I getting to interact beyond firing missiles and laser cannons at each other. It’s a reasonable request. More than reasonable. It’s profitable for Arus.”

Though she stayed silent, tilting her head in a show of thought, it wasn’t to chew on what he’d tried to feed her. The second she heard it her mind spit the poisonous notion out. Oh, the offer would be profitable for her planet in the short term, no doubt. But the one who stood to gain the most from the Voltron Force and Alliance chipping away at Zarkon’s power was currently looming over her, one boot tapping on her carpet as he waited for her response. With the old space pirate preoccupied by dwindling resources and soaring defeats, he’d probably never notice his son creeping up from behind until Lotor’s sword ran right through him.

She was young, maybe naïve at times, but Allura didn’t qualify for stupid.

Lotor didn’t need to know that, though. Victory was all he had eyes for.

“You and I interacting. What sort of…interaction did you have in mind?” She had to control her gag reflex while she said it.

Lotor released a long-suffering sigh. “Contrary to what I can almost hear you thinking, no, I don’t mean sex.” His lids grew hooded, eyes flickering like candleflames beneath them. “Though I’ve thought about it, Princess. Often,” he confessed in a low voice that she swore took on substance, gliding across the gap between them to brush against her skin.

Wishing she had an extra layer of clothing on, Allura folded her arms across her chest. She had to lick her dry lips twice before speaking. “So what then?” Her voice had too much in common with the castle’s mice.

He didn’t lose the hungry predator expression. “You were practicing Drule when I came in, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat around her thumping pulse. “The Alliance’s translators felt they had a deep enough understanding of your language to release a learning program.”

“Well, they were wrong. Any Drule child off of his or her mother’s teat could have told them as much.”

Allura welcomed the wave of annoyance, letting it scour away her nerves. “What does—”

“I can teach you.”

Arus’ sworn enemy and would-be conqueror tutoring her in his people’s speech. She could see it now. Lesson one: How to address one’s Drule masters properly.

“And how are you planning on doing this?” she asked, more to keep the ball rolling than from any belief he intended to follow through with the offer. “Should I have a ladder installed on my balcony?”

A thin smile stretched his lips. “Appreciated, Allura, but a bit too conspicuous, I think. I’ll let myself in, thank you. I’ve never had too much trouble in the past, after all.”

She dug her nails into her palms to refrain from slapping the hint of a smirk off his face. “And are you going to keep up the tradition of popping in unannounced, or will you tell me when I should expect you?”

Allura anticipated hearing anything from a long list of excuses and evasions.

The answer he gave wasn’t among them.

“Tomorrow I will send you—via a third party, of course—your first gift of information. From there, I’ll call on you, let us say…three Arusian days afterward? In the evening, like now. That should give you plenty of time to prepare a trap for me, should the mood strike.”

Her mouth opened to release a soothing denial, but Lotor staved it off with a raised hand.

“You’re no fool, Allura. You don’t believe a word I’ve said up to this point. Talk, as you humans have noted, is cheap. Only actions will suffice here.”

He leaned down, an avalanche of white hair spilling over his shoulders. Allura pressed herself into the desk to avoid it brushing against her. At that range, she could feel his warm breath on her suddenly clammy skin, and see her pale reflection in the dark mirrors of his widened pupils. Her heart felt like an icy hand had clamped around it.

“I put my faith in you, Princess. I do it in the hope that one day you might do the same for me.”

Her tongue did nothing but trip over itself while he turned on one heel with military precision and strode out of her room without a second glance. She heard nothing—no drapes being pulled aside, no click from the glass doors, or scrapes against the stone terrace. Only a lingering whiff of fine leather and the taste of his lips on hers provided proof she hadn’t hallucinated the entire encounter.

_You’re no fool, Allura._

The alarm. She needed to alert security and the guys before Lotor got away.

_I’ll call on you, let us say…three Arusian days after?_

Instead of shouting at the top of her lungs, Allura found herself headed for the balcony. She swiped aside the drapes, feet slapping on the cool stone as she hurried to the balustrade. Moonlight edged the grass and foliage in silver. Shattered into millions of glittering ripples on the surface of the surrounding lake. No sign of the Prince Imperial shone in the darkness. But unless he had sprouted wings somehow, it would take time for him to get to his cruiser. All she had to do was give the word.

_I put my faith in you, Princess…_

Allura’s hands squeezed the railing until the knuckles became as white as its stone.

That…that smug…devious… _blankety blank_. He knew she could reject him. That she could resist personal or even political gain.

But she couldn’t deny her own better nature.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos, bookmarks, or just plain took the time to read some of this fic! You are the bee's knees.

The farther he got from her, the harder Lotor had to fight the urge to run right back.

Pushing past his initial hesitation, he sprang onto the balustrade, twisted around, and leapt up to grab the rope that dangled above Allura’s balcony. Boots planted against the gleaming wall, he began to scale the side of the castle. After about twenty feet, he allowed himself to pause and glance down.

Allura stood below, her hair shining like a patch of sunlight that had refused to depart with the arrival of night. Lotor felt his resolve start to corrode. A short drop and he could have her in his arms. Inhale the clean, sweet scent of her hair and skin. Feel the soft warmth of her lips against his. He could stretch her out on the bed, make her understand with each caress of his fingertips, the curl of his tongue, and every thrust of his hips what he couldn’t with words.

Which was exactly the sort of thinking that had gotten him nowhere up to that point. Allura had made it clear that she would accept nothing from someone she’d called—on multiple occasions—a monster. She needed to see that he possessed more facets than just his reputation and heritage.

In order for that to happen, though, he had to follow the plan. Advice that he found easier to serve than swallow.

Gritting his teeth, Lotor forced himself to turn away from the temptation waiting below. He was Prince Imperial of the Galra Empire. A warrior of _Jui Kuhalth_. He’d faced death dozens of times on land, in the air and the void of space. Wars, assassins, high holiday dinners with his father and relatives—he had emerged victorious (or at least somewhat sane) from them all. Walking away from one human girl didn’t even rank as an inconvenience by comparison.

So said his head. His heart held a different opinion. As did other parts of him; arousal had to be the worst condition for clambering up a hundred foot wall. Suppressing a growl, Lotor redirected his seething energies into climbing. The repetitive motion and exertion helped subdue his rioting emotions. By the time he’d gained the parapet at the top of the castle he was master of himself again. Mostly. The desire to turn back still grumbled in the recesses of his mind, but he ignored it in favor of walking over to his SC-324 Wind Rider.

No good could come of pressing the matter he consoled himself while he donned his flight jacket and goggles, then unfolded the glider’s hand grips. If Allura hadn’t already run to that Garrison puppet Kogane and gotten half the castle up in arms, returning to her quarters would mean breaking his word. Any trust that might have been born between them would be aborted, and he’d be faced with the one thing he’d refused to accept his whole life: failure.

Flexible frame of the glider infinitely lighter than his mood, Lotor approached the parapet again. He pressed the two small buttons on the sides of the hand grips, hearing a faint whisper of fabric as the synthetic material of the wings unfurled and snapped into place. The wind blew out of the north, tugging at his artificial pinions and making the lions emblazoned on the flags atop each of the castle’s towers dance. An excellent night for flying.

“I’ll be back for you, Allura,” Lotor whispered to the warm glow of her light far below. “You know I will.”

Before doubt could take hold again, he leapt out into the night. The thrill of weightlessness, of hanging suspended with nothing between him and hard, unforgiving earth but air, rushed through him for one gleaming moment. Gravity reasserted its authority during the next. The wind caught him just as he started to dip, and the glider’s guidance system responded, calibrating adjustments and relaying them to his wings. Safely airborne, he pressed another button under his index finger to activate the cloaker. He caught a faint shimmer out of the corner of his eye and felt the prickle of an active energy field along his skin and clothing. The only thing the Arusian citizens beneath him might see—if they bothered looking to the sky at all—was the silhouette of a winged humanoid. They would probably believe they had glimpsed one of the divine messengers from their mythology. A smirk eased the troubled line of his mouth. Irony had a way of following him.

Most of his seditious thoughts fell away as he soared over the Arusian landscape. The silver-speckled velvet of the lake gave way to dense tufts of forest. Such a pretty place. Like its princess, much of Arus’ charm lay in its raw potential, its untamed spirit. Even before his father had blasted much of the planet’s tech back to a primitive level, the inhabitants had been happy to work and build with or around nature rather than bend it to their wills. They never grasped for more, content to live and let live. Peaceful. Complacent. Ignorant. Destined to be conquered or destroyed.

It was the price for living a lie.

The wind carried him north, where the forest gave way to grassy hills and pale cliffs. He landed between two of the former and let the glider’s wings fold up. From there, it was a moderate hike to the top of the cliff where his battle cruiser waited.

When he exited Arus’ atmosphere without sight or sound of the Lions, Lotor felt nearly-forgotten hope kindle within him. He had won the first round at least.

For once, the Prince Imperial set about the task of returning home with a smile on his face.

**!**

The second thing he’d nearly forgotten: warping while in a cruiser instead of a carrier was much less comfortable and much more disorienting. Jumping down to the floor of the castle’s main hanger and stretching his legs proved to be a wobbly, awkward experience. Few were around to witness his rubber-kneed return: only a handful of technicians who were busy repairing another craft, the soldiers on duty at the exits, and a lone officer standing by the westernmost of these. When he approached the latter (his stride steady once again) the man bent into a bow that wasn’t quite as deep as that of the two guards.

“Greetings, Imperial Highness,” the officer said in Court Drule, rising. Standing straight, his calm gaze came level with Lotor’s. “I’m glad to see you well. I trust your flight was a pleasant one?”

“Pleasant enough, Commander Saffrin,” he answered in kind, tone light. Stepping past, he motioned for the other man to follow.

The castle’s halls were quiet except for the matching clomp of their boots against the polished black stone of the floor. Even so, Lotor waited until they had entered his chambers, the doors shut and locked behind them, before speaking again.

“So, did the old pirate notice my absence?”

Saffrin flopped down into his usual overstuffed chair by the bookshelves. “Oh, yes, but not for the reason you might think.”

Going behind the bar, Lotor poured himself a glass of chilled wine. “I’ll vomit if you say he had a change of heart and misses me.” Or he would attempt to at least—it had been over several hours since his last meal.

“Your gag reflex can rest easy,” Saffrin replied. “No, His Majesty just idly wondered where you’d gotten off to because you weren’t at lunch to witness him…chastise Lady Brilka in front of everyone.”

A grimace twisted his face, but not from the wine. “Then I’m twice as glad I was gone. I doubt there’s enough alcohol in the universe to erase such an image from my brain.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It was rather amusing, seeing the conniving bitch forced face down in the main course while the emperor, ah, made his point.”

And there went his appetite. “Amusing for you maybe. I’d almost feel sorry for Brilka if she hadn’t tried to serve me poisoned cake when I was a child.” He downed the rest of the wine, poured himself another glass, and went to take the chair opposite his friend.

Saffrin ran his fingers through his short crop of dark blue hair. “She was never that kind to me. All I got were threats of castration if she caught me in her son’s bed again.”

Lotor smirked. “To be fair, she’d caught you in bed with her daughter the week before. Her married daughter.”

“She told me to keep my hands off of Luca, so I did.” He shrugged. “She never said I couldn’t put them on anyone else in her family.”

Ah, the reckless days of their youth. Taking a sip from his glass, Lotor shook his head. “So my father really doesn’t suspect what I’m up to yet?”

“For all anyone knows, you flew off to sulk over him banning you from leading another fleet to Arus. He didn’t bring up the subject of commanding one himself again, you might be pleased to know.”

He wasn’t, not exactly. His father didn’t forget or miss things anywhere near as easily as some of the court liked to believe—a lesson he had taught Brilka quite thoroughly that day. No, the old man meant to make good on his threat sooner or later. The Voltron Farce believed they’d tasted the worst the empire had to offer, a notion he’d fostered by holding back for Allura’s sake. Not for the first time, he questioned the wisdom of his benevolent decision.

Voltron was formidable. It was unique. But it couldn’t stop a planet-wide invasion, bombs, chemical and biological agents released into the atmosphere, or any of the other lovely methods of annihilation that had made his father a household name. In short, Allura and her team of ragtag rejects were one order away from becoming footnotes in his father’s biography. He glowered down into his wine as if he could divine the future from it.

Pupils sharpening as he caught the thoughts betrayed by Lotor’s face, Saffin arched his eyebrows. “Grieving gods, don’t start brooding on me. I have to hear about how handsome you are enough as it is—I don’t want to contemplate the increased effect your pouty mouth will have on your fans.”

“This plan has to work,” he said, refusing to be goaded into cheering up. “We aren’t ready to win a civil war. Not yet.”

“Have you considered falling in love with a more obtainable woman? A death priestess or a goddess perhaps?”

When all that got him was a narrow look, Saffrin held up his hands and sighed. “Did your princess seem interested in the offer at all?”

“Not until I put myself at her mercy. Before then I could have been reciting Tyrusian poetry for all she cared. She really doesn’t understand what she has to gain. Or lose.”

Expression shaped by sympathy, his friend nodded. “Humans do have a bad habit of getting their priorities backwards. So she really believes Arus can hold its own against a full-scale imperial invasion?”

“I didn’t bring up my father’s threat or the fact he’s grounded me.”

Saffrin’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why not?”

Lotor shook his head. “There’s enough bad blood between her and me already. I didn’t want to add ‘by the way, my father is going to fry your planet until the worms choke on the ashes if you don’t marry me soon’ to the list. When did putting pressure on Allura ever work out in the past?”

“Point taken…but the emperor’s patience is going to crumble long before the walls of her heart do.”

“I know,” Lotor said, with a shaper edge than his friend deserved. Blowing out a breath, he stared into his wine again, considered adding it to the first glassful in his stomach, and finally set it aside on an end table.

“We’re just going to have to create more pressing matters to distract my father. Speaking of sabotage, any word from Vendris?”

Saffrin ran a finger slowly along the spines of the books on the shelves beside him though, like Lotor, he had read every one. “She said she has the travel coordinates of a certain imperial freighter and is ready to send them to Arus at your command. Also, that she still thinks you’re a god-cursed idiot who follows his cock like it’s a compass needle. Which was practically a confession of love compared to the comments she reserved for me.”

A grin split Lotor’s face despite himself. In a court where people lied as often as blinked, Vendris’ unsweetened honesty was an acquired taste.

“Excellent. That shouldn’t be too much for the Lions to handle, and it will make the old man start to wonder how they found it.”

“I don’t think ‘wonder’ quite captures his potential reaction—not enough frothing at the mouth or beheadings,” commented Saffrin, sliding a sideways look at him. “And it’s bound to be directed at you first.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Lotor let his face harden into a determined cast. “Better me than Allura.”

His friend shook his head, but refrained from dispensing any further advice or logic. Though he doubted Lotor’s taste in women, they had stood back to back in enough battles for faith in his plans to hold steady. Solidarity equaled better odds of success.

It also meant they would all go to the pyre together if something went wrong. Him, Saffrin, Vendris, their families, their comrades, Arus—everyone.

Rather than push the rising fears and doubts back down, Lotor used them to stoke his purpose, tempering his resolve within the blaze, folding his feelings into it with every breath. He wouldn’t fail. He would protect his own. Take Allura as his wife. Crush his father. And he would start by overcoming the most difficult challenge of all.

Waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura wrestles with the pros and cons of accepting Lotor's deal while heading to breakfast with the rest of the team. Lance is Lance. And Castle Control receives a little surprise gift.

The morning sunlight streaming in through the windows did nothing to chase away the thoughts smothering Allura’s mind like storm clouds. Head down, lips pressed tight, and a worried furrow sharing her brow with her customary circlet, she might have been headed to her own execution instead of breakfast.

An entire night of tossing and turning and she still couldn’t say whether she’d made the worst mistake of her life. Lotor had been sincere. That much her instincts confirmed. But sincerity was like a smile: a pretty gesture that could mask a variety of meanings. Stronger forces than just a change of heart had moved Lotor to visit her last night. Nothing as straightforward as another kidnapping ploy either—he’d had her hands up and pants down, as the saying from the eastern parts of the Altean continent went. Despite the warmth of the daylight, Allura hugged herself, rubbing her arms as a chill shivered through her.

Whatever the Prince Imperial’s reasons, they couldn’t be good news for Arus.

The thought was punctuated by the sensation of many legs skittering up the small of her back. A shriek bursting out of her, Allura leapt forward, frantically swatting the spot, and whirled to see anything but the huge, hairy insect she’d feared.

“Lance!” she cried, tone an accusation.

She was positive he’d worn the same grin as a boy, probably while secretly dropping small creatures into girls’ bags at school. He wiggled his insect-impersonating fingers at her. “Mornin’, sunshine. Just checking to see if you’re awake.”

When her glare didn’t diminish, he spread his hands in supplication. Though a faint gleam remained in his brown eyes, his expression softened into what Pidge called the puppy dog pout. “Hey, I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to spook you that bad. You okay?”

Her heartbeat still pounded like a piston, but Allura felt her ire start to fade along with the adrenaline rush. Sighing, she managed a slight smile. “You probably put a gray streak in my hair, but yes, I’m all right.”

Face perking back up, Lance leaned in close under the pretense of examining her bound blonde tresses. His body heat radiated through the cotton of his shirt, carrying the pleasantly combined scents of aftershave and his favorite leather jacket with it. If she just turned her head she could brush her lips right along the sculpted curve of his jaw. Allura’s heart continued to thump, but for new reasons entirely.

“Hm. Looks good to me,” he said as he pulled back, eyes alight with humor. And maybe a unspoken suggestion or two.

Cheeks burning, Allura released the laughter that bubbled up from her middle, dissolving what was left of her bad mood. Out of the five men who’d crash landed on Arus that day almost two years ago, becoming her protectors and later her teammates, only Lance had such an effect on her. What Nanny would have deemed outrageous familiarity served to put Allura at ease and allowed her to feel like a normal young woman, free to flirt and smile. Lance didn’t see titles and lineages. Only people.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we? Hunk’s probably cleared half the table by now. If we hurry we might be able to snag some leftover toast crusts.”

They fell into step together. “You should talk. I seem to recall you bragging about winning a pie eating contest not too long ago.” Not to mention Nanny’s resulting wrath when she discovered her contributions to the annual Flower Festival had been devoured prematurely.

“Hey, that was different. A matter of manly honor.”

“More like gastric suicide. Or were those retching sounds coming over someone else’s comm during flight drill that day?”

“Roll your eyes all you want. But I wouldn’t take it back for anything—the opportunity to seize glory doesn’t cruise by every week, you know.”

Allura laughed again. “I’ll have to use that one if I ever do something monumentally stupid.”

Clucking his tongue, Lance shook his head. “No respect. No respect at all. But enough about me. What’s up with you there, Allura, Warrior Princess? You were dragging your feet like you’d just come home from an all night bar crawl. Usually you’re pretty hard to get the drop on. Something must have your mental gears grinding.”

For a moment, the truth trembled at the tip of her tongue. It would be such a weight off her shoulders to share it with someone—to ask what she should do.

Clenching her teeth, Allura forced herself to swallow the confession. Her relief would be forgotten once the others found out and the barrage of questions began. Why hadn’t she reported Lotor’s break-in immediately? Had he touched her? Was she positive he hadn’t tried anything? In a way, the queries, especially Nanny and Coran’s, would be more intrusive than the Prince Imperial’s little visit—like her chastity took precedence over everything else. Then they would start making plans as if she weren’t standing in the same room. As if she were just a messenger.

Worst of all, she would feel they were right.

So, she settled for spitting up a half-truth. “I’m worried what plans Lotor might have in the works for us. Things have been awfully quiet for almost a month now.”

Lance pursed his lips. “True. He hasn’t even sent a robeast candy gram to show he stills cares. Maybe he found another princess to stalk?”

“Ha ha.” She poked him in the arm. Hard.

Wincing, he shrugged. “Seriously, he might be distracted by something else. Maybe the Drule Supremacy finally decided to spank Daddy Dearest for ditching them and running off on his own to play emperor. I mean, the fact that one of their glorified attack dogs turned around and bit them ain’t gonna slide forever. You ask me, that’s why Zarkon’s always had such a hard-on for—” He closed his mouth, shot her a sideways glance, and cleared his throat. “Why he’s been so eager to get his hands on Voltron. To save his bacon when the time comes.”

“Ah,” Allura said, the word one of acknowledgement rather than acceptance. She had no doubts that Lance’s speculations rang true on their own. Coupled with Lotor’s actions the other night, though, they didn’t quite sound right. Somehow, she got the sense that the Prince of Doom’s reasons were on a much more personal level.

I want you to give me a chance.

Like the memory was a buzzing gnat in her ear, she shook her head to drive it away. “Well, I hope it stays this way for at least another couple of weeks. I’d love to see the summer fair start up again in Leonne.”

 “You and me both, Princess.”

Their chat saw them all the way to the dining hall. Lance escorted her to her chair at the head of the long table, partly out of courtesy, but mostly because of the look it earned from Ingrid Hys, aka Nanny. Allura’s childhood governess ceased her vigil of keeping Hunk from touching the food to watch the two of them with narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils, like a mother beltra* about to charge. It was all well and good for the guys to risk their lives in service to Arus and its princess, but as far as Nanny was concerned, that didn’t earn them the right to be treated as equals. Allura couldn’t help smirking a little at Lance’s daring as she took her seat.

Her mirth dried up when it became her turn to be scrutinized.

“You are up later than usual this morning, Highness,” noted the woman, unrelenting gaze taking inventory of her charge’s appearance. “Your skin is also looking wan and you have circles beneath your eyes. Are you feeling well?” She leaned over to put a palm to Allura’s brow before any answer could be given.

“I’m fine.” She brushed the offending hand away. “I just didn’t get much sleep is all.”

That sent Nanny’s glare darting back to Lance, who actually flinched under its force.

Allura resisted the urge to do something she’d regret with her fork. “It’s this heat wave. It keeps me from getting comfortable.”

“Why not use the air conditioning?” Hunk asked. “Me and Pidge got it up and running months ago.”

Allura shook her head. “I always forget or feel guilty for using the extra power. Too much time living in the underground shelters.”

“Well, now we are able to resume being civilized,” stated Nanny. “I cannot stress enough how dangerous it is to leave your windows open, Your Highness.”

For once, Allura didn’t argue.

Shuffling footsteps were heard a few seconds before Pidge came through the doorway. “Morning,” he mumbled, sticking a finger up behind his tinted glasses to rub sleep from the corner of one eye. His courage being much greater than his short stature, he took the chair next to Nanny and across from Hunk.

Looking at the empty seat to her right, Allura asked, “Will Coran be joining us?”

“No,” answered Nanny, straightening her cutlery a fraction. “He is taking his meal in the control room. This lull has his nerves on edge.”

So she wasn’t the only one who smelled something on the wind. Allura glanced at Hunk. “What about Keith?”

“Chief should be here any minute.” His face turned wistful as he stared at a bowl of fruit sitting right in front of him. “He went back to his room to have a quick shower after our jog and sparring match earlier.”

Allura felt the sting of jealousy. Last year she would have spent her morning doing the same thing with them, before Coran and Nanny had put a stop to it. Hand to hand combat training was unseemly for a princess they’d argued. Being raped or killed by invading Drule soldiers because she couldn’t defend herself was apparently the proper thing for a lady of her station to do. Though she’d continued to practice for a few weeks more, her two well-meaning watchdogs had bled the joy from it until she’d quit.

Maybe the time had come to take martial arts up again—especially if Lotor would be calling on her.

“Would you mind me joining you guys? For practice, I mean,” she said before she could talk herself out of it.

Hunk startled at little at the request, blinking, then broke into a broad smile. “Sure thing, Princess. We’d love to have you back. It’d be fun to teach instead of just getting my butt kicked by Keith for a change.”

Red blotches bloomed on Nanny’s cheeks. “Highness, I thought we had settled the matter of you pursuing such nonsense.”

She reminded herself to keep her tone from turning defensive. “I’ve decided I could use a little more nonsense in my life.”

Though the woman stayed silent, her expression declared war. Second thoughts started to creep up on Allura, but a covert thumbs-up from Pidge and grin from Lance drove them back. Maybe with their support she could keep her wings from being clipped a second time. She gave them a grateful smile.

“Oh, hey, speaking of nonsense,” Pidge said, smoothly switching the subject’s tracks away from total disaster, “I finally installed that new encryption program that the Alliance sent in the castle’s communication system. Took me most of the night to make some adjustments, but it should be up and running now.”

Hunk made a sound that was half-laugh, half-snort. “You fixed all the problems it came with and turned it into something we can actually use you mean.”

Pidge shrugged. “Everything comes from HQ back on Terra, so they’re always behind on the latest the empire or Supremacy throws at border worlds like us.”

At least that was their official excuse. Past that lay the ugly truth: that the Alliance couldn’t have cared less about Arus, Pollux, or any of the planets not under their direct control. So long as Zarkon or the Supremacy didn’t push toward the heart of civilized territory both could conquer, pillage, and destroy with impudence. Allura’s pleas for humanitarian if not military aid hadn’t even warranted an impersonal, drone-generated response when the Drules had bombed Arus to the brink of oblivion. Not until Voltron had been resurrected had they bothered to take interest—and then only to try to claim joint ownership of the mecha since their men were piloting it. It still brought a smile to Allura’s face when she remembered the furious reaction of the Alliance higher-ups as the guys informed them of their acceptance of Arusian citizenship and allegiance to her. All the threats of court martial, prison time, even military action hadn’t swayed her teammates. In the end, the Alliance had been forced to play nice, though Allura trusted them even less than the Drules. At least Zarkon was more honest about his intentions.

“That’s great news, Pidge! You’re a life saver,” she said, and meant it. The fact he had barely celebrated his eighteenth birthday a couple of months ago just heightened her opinion of him.

He turned red to the roots of his messy brown hair and waved a hand to deflect her praise. “It was no biggie. Hey, how’s that new Drule language program working out? Have any trouble with it?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Um, no. No, not really. I only started a few days ago, though, so I can’t say for certain.”

“I’d like to give that thing a try myself.” Hunk’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “Then I could give Prince Periwinkle a piece of my mind in his own language.”

“I always thought he was more of a robin’s egg blue myself,” chimed in a voice from the doorway.

All attention turned to Keith as he strolled in, combing his fingers through his freshly washed hair. Allura had secretly approved of him letting it grow out from regulation length since his arrival on Arus. As dark as his eyes, it softened the almost perpetually serious lines of his face and made him look more his twenty-six years. His sharp gaze swept over everyone before finally settling on her. He dipped his head in a nod which she returned, her pulse fluttering with…well, she’d never been able to quite pin down an accurate description for the sensation even after close to two years. It had elements of the way she felt when she and Lance played at flirting, but instead of putting her at ease his attention made her thoughts fly around like a startled flock of birds. Her tendency to fumble words and actions tripled whenever his focus swung her way.

Case in point: she realized she’d been staring.

“Finally!” Hunk cried, saving the moment from reaching critical awkwardness. “Now can we eat?”

Nanny’s shrewish stare followed Keith the entire way to his chair beside the Yellow Lion pilot, though not quite with the intensity she’d aimed at Lance. Not because she thought the captain would make a more suitable marriage prospect, but because she trusted him to mind his place. Somewhat anyway.

“Help yourselves,” said Allura, just to remind her governess who sat at the head of the table.

Hands darted out and food started disappearing. Allura snagged a sample of several things: a sausage and bit of fruit here, a slice of toast and some yogurt there. Though she didn’t have much of an appetite, life had taught her it was best to eat regardless. One never knew when a meal would become somebody’s last. She forced herself to nibble on her selections.

“No Coran today?” Keith motioned to the empty chair with his fork.

“Control room,” answered Lance through a mouthful of omelet. “He’s getting twitchy over Lotor not wanting to come over and play lately.”

Hunk began to peel the scaly rind off a sima fruit. “No blues is good news, I say.”

The truth lodged itself in Allura’s throat, making it hard to swallow her bite of toast. Invasive questions or no, how could she keep Lotor’s offer from them? It didn’t just affect her, but the whole future of Arus. Besides, her teammates never would’ve kept such an enormous secret from her.

Still, she couldn’t find her voice. A churning feeling in her gut told her to hold back. Lotor had thrown himself on her mercy. As irrational as it sounded, the idea of betraying him didn’t sit right. Plus, what good would come of it if she did? Would Zarkon even care his son had been taken prisoner? She couldn’t see him keeping any bargain for peace they did manage to pry out of him. Even with Lotor locked away in prison for life that left the rest of the empire to stop.

Spirit of Altarus preserve her, but for once she believed it might be a mistake to dismiss the Prince of Doom’s offer.

“Uh, Princess? Yoo-hooooo…Lance to Allura! You copy?”

Surfacing from her thoughts, Allura blinked rapidly and looked up from her half-empty plate to find every pair of eyes trained on her. A blush ignited in her cheeks.

“Oh! Oh, erm, were you talking to me? Sorry! What did I miss?”

“I was just suggesting we check in with Pollux and some of the other border worlds today,” Keith said. “Maybe someone along the grapevine has some clue on what the Drules have been up to.”

She nodded quickly. “Good idea. I’ll—”

The chime of their comms going off at once interrupted. They all jumped a bit and exchanged glances. While not an emergency alert, the tone indicated official Voltron business.

“I got it,” Pidge announced, fishing his comm from his pocket first. Setting it on the table, he tapped at the screen. “Go ahead, Coran. The gang’s all here and I have you on speaker.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stoker,” replied the strategist, never one for familiarity. “I apologize for intruding on your meal, but communications has just received a most unusual message. Though the matter is important, it is not yet urgent, so please finish your breakfast before joining me at castle control.”

“We’ll be there within the hour,” Keith told him.

Pidge ended the call but continued to gaze at the screen thoughtfully. “A message, huh? Wonder who it’s from.”

Allura had a pretty good idea.

Despite Coran’s assurance that they didn’t need to rush, the promise of excitement had the guys bolting the remainder of their food down. Allura found herself grateful she didn’t have to pick at her own anymore when they pushed their plates away and stood.

Speculation dominated the conversation during the walk through the halls. Conversation she stayed out of except for an occasional shrug or shake of her head.

Chilly air washed over them when the castle’s control room doors slid open upon their arrival, adding to Allura’s sense of foreboding. In contrast, the enormous main screen showed a picturesque panorama of Leonne and the rolling green countryside that surrounded it. Only the pale bits of building foundations, poking up from the grass like half-buried bones, hinted at the bombed ruin the town had been reduced to years before. The resilience and tenacity of her people served as a constant source of amazement and inspiration. So many and so much lost, yet they continued to rebuild, their spirits unbroken.

The man responsible for ensuring there had been anyone left to do so rose from the leather-bound chair in front of the control panels. Sir Raible Coran regarded them with the same calm calculation Allura had seen him display her entire life. In the fourteen years since Zarkon had murdered her family and driven what remained of her people below ground, she could count the number of times the collected demeanor of her father’s old strategist and friend had cracked on one hand. He was like the Pierrane Mountains he had been born in: solid, enduring, unmoved by the chaos and upheavals around him.

He greeted her first, bowing at the waist. “Your Highness.”

She gave a return nod. “What’s this news about a message?”

He swept the long tails of his coat aside and resumed his seat, tapping and sliding his fingers across the control interface. “Please look to the main screen.”

As they watched, the view of Leonne was minimized, being replaced with what appeared to be the blueprints of a huge interstellar freighter. On the smaller righthand screen a block of text, written in Trade, came up.

“‘To Princess Allura of Arus and the Voltron Force,” Lance read. “It has recently come to my attention that a certain Drilik…Drilikaz? Aw, a certain Something-or-Other class freighter of Galra Empire make will soon embark on a delivery run from Imperial-held Stamos to Korrinoth, otherwise known as Planet Doom. This would not be so unusual save for its cargo, which I have listed below.’”

Hunk let out a long whistle. “Continent crackers and firestarters? Man, that thing’s carrying Armageddon for some unlucky planet.”

A black hole where her stomach usually was, Allura marshaled the courage to ask, “What are those?”

Grim lines framed Keith’s mouth. “Bombs. Big ones. The first kind, if detonated along fault lines or tectonic plates, can cause all sorts of natural catastrophes. Volcanic eruptions, tsunamis hundreds of feet high, earthquakes off the Richter, take your pick. The second continue what those started by scorching the surface after the initial blast and generating searing winds, effectively desiccating the landscape and turning it into a wasteland. I’ve seen holos of tests conducted by the Alliance on uninhabited moons. Not pretty.”

She had to peel her tongue from the roof of her suddenly dry mouth. “The Alliance has that sort of firepower?”

He nodded. “So does Zarkon, apparently.”

“Whoever sent this wanted us informed of the fact.” Coran stroked one corner of his moustache—a gesture Allura knew sprang from great mental agitation. “Not only on what the freighter holds, but its travel route, weak points, how many other ships are in the escort and what kind—in short, everything we would need to disable and capture it.”

Lance clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Well, hot damn! Let’s fire up the Lions and rock’n roll!”

“Normally I would be inclined to agree with that sentiment, Lieutenant McClain. However, there is one thing you’ve failed to consider. Namely, how is this mysterious benefactor privy to the comings, goings, and specs of Imperial Drule ships?”

“In other words, it’s probably a trap, dummy,” Pidge translated.

“So what? Are we just gonna sit here with our thumbs up our asses then? It’s not like we’re going in blind.”

“Pidge is right. We need to know who sent this and why,” Keith said, dark eyes scanning the text on the screen. “No way is the person who got their hands on this kind of intel some concerned citizen. They’re either a Drule feeding us false info or one hell of a hacker. I trust one about as much as the other.”

Telling them the truth wouldn’t improve that outlook either. However, maybe she didn’t have to, not outright.

“Can we track down the source of the transmission?” Allura asked, tone more than a little hopeful.

“Perhaps, given the time.” Coran’s frown was barely visible beneath his whiskers. “Which brings me to our next problem. According to the travel data provided, we only have a short window of opportunity to attack before the freighter reaches the required distance from Stamos. It seems the Drule are cautious when it comes to loading and transporting weaponry of this magnitude. They make sure to reach open space before a jump is attempted, just in case something triggers a detonation.”

Keith narrowed his eyes at the screen. “When would we have to leave to intercept?”

“According to both our dubious source and my own calculations, within the next four hours.”

Lotor had given them just enough time to think it over, but not too much.

“Can you sniff out where the message came from in that time, Pidge?” she asked.

The Green Lion pilot scratched his chin. “If the sender covered their trail as well as I figure they did? No, probably not. But I can start.”

Coran sighed. “The question now becomes are we willing to risk ourselves on the off-chance this information is true? If Zarkon did intend to use such weapons in the near future…well, I believe we realize what a precarious situation that puts Arus in.”

“Understatement of the year,” muttered Hunk.

A literal shudder at the thought rattled through Allura. If Lotor hadn’t shared this intelligence, his father would have received the deadly shipment with them none the wiser. The empire’s recent silence took on an even more sinister cast.

Stopping that freighter could mean life or death for a world. Possibly her own.

“We have to go.” Allura didn’t realize she’d blurted the thought until everyone turned to stare at her. She forced her spine to remain straight, though she couldn’t stop the blood from rising in her face. Why did she always feel embarrassed to voice her opinion on a situation? She was heir to the throne, not a child who’d spoken out of turn at school.

“All right, Princess! Gimme five!” Grin stretched ear to ear, Lance offered his hand palm outwards. She pressed more than slapped her own against it.

“I agree,” Keith said, making both her and Coran’s brows leap up. “It’s a risk, but nothing compared to letting Zarkon keep his toys. If we go in with caution, keep our heads, we might turn this into a win. Whether the sender was lying will get answered one way or another.”

Validation made Allura’s heart swell and feel like it might stop altogether at the same time. She couldn’t be wrong if the captain agreed.

“As much as it pains me, I have little choice but to concur.” From Coran’s expression one would have thought he’d been forced to swallow a particularly prickly bug. “I must remind you, however, that preserving the Lions is our highest priority. Should they be damaged or captured Arus is lost.”

She didn’t feel the need to point out that if the empire hit their planet with that cargo there wouldn’t be anyone left for Voltron to defend. The round had already gone to her—best not to rub things in.

His face was like a wooden mask, but something burned behind Keith’s eyes as he turned to his team. Though Allura couldn’t put a name to its source, she felt her pulse kick into a canter in response. She knew a glance at any of her teammates would show a reflection of her own experience.

“All right, let’s suit up.” Though steady, his voice held an undercurrent of the same, barely contained emotional electricity coursing through them. “These extra few hours will be to our advantage. The Drules might have planned a trap. We’re going to give them an ambush instead.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's break up some of this plot and character stuff with a good old-fashioned space battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Form blazing thank yous for Eliza Jane, Lightning_Streak, spaceChai, Erisethx, MadelineLime, Andelevion, MalevoLiss (MissLissa1), Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, and anyone who took time out of their busy life to read stuff I made up in my head. I hope the story continues to prove enjoyable despite my long-winded style.

One of the most frequent questions Allura got from people was how it felt to fly Blue Lion. Every time, without fail, her tongue tripped over itself while trying to answer. How could she begin to describe the almost religious experience? The adrenaline that flooded her system when she leapt down the boarding chute in the castle’s control room dimmed in comparison to actually sitting in the pilot seat. She hadn’t the faintest idea what material it was made from, but her body sank into it like gel, fostering a sense of weightlessness. Her fingers trembled as she set the medallion-style key in its proper recess and then slipped her hands into the twin receptacles at the ends of the seat’s armrests. The dark, glass-like pads beneath her palms instantly flared with a white-blue glow. Every nerve, every cell in her came alive with a bracing yet pleasant jolt. She broke out in a rash of goosebumps, energy rippling along her skin. A harmonic hum that Allura felt down into the core of her bones stirred the cool air of the cockpit.

There were no levers to pull. No gauges to read. Not a single switch to flip. Which was just as well—she’d never operated anything bigger than a personal transport in the underground shelters. The Alliance had sent pilots and technicians to Arus, thinking Voltron merely another machine. Advanced, yes. Complex, certainly. But still something that could be reduced to basic nuts and bolts, then replicated.

What they failed to comprehend and would scarcely believe was that she and the guys didn’t simply fly the Lions. They became them.

Blue-tinted light obscured her vision as the near-mythological technology transferred her consciousness from its frail human shell. When her sight cleared, she had a clear view of the bottom of Asala Lake. She raised her head, now dozens of meters above the platform beneath her paws, and stretched for the pure pleasure of doing so rather than out of any real need. Haunches gathered under her, she launched herself toward the rippling silver surface above. She burst out of the lake, water streaming from her glittering hide. Gravity had no claim on her. Water, land, the beautiful optical illusion that was the summer sky, and the infinite expanse of space beyond—all were her domain.

Flying Blue Lion made her feel more powerful than being a princess ever had.

A static charge crackled along her right flank, letting her know Keith had joined her in the air. They were almost always first since their Lions rested nearest to the castle. Side by side they soared toward the southwest.

“How you feeling, Princess?” he asked over the comm system. At least, what they referred to as the comm system—it sounded more like his steady, sonorous voice came from inside her head. But none of them wanted to start throwing terms like “”telepathy” or “magic” around. It tended to attract funny looks or awkward questions about one’s sanity from those who hadn’t experienced such things first hand.

“Great,” she answered, dimly aware of her small, fleshy mouth forming the words back in the cockpit. “Apparently, flying the Lions is an acceptable substitute for a full night’s sleep.”

One of his rare, quiet laughs tickled the confines of her skull. If she hadn’t already been soaring hundreds of feet above the earth that would’ve done the trick.

“What’s the joke?” inquired Pidge as he joined them from the forest below. Allura’s senses registered Green Lion’s presence as a cool wind to her left.

“Just that this is more effective than any cup of coffee,” Keith explained.

“Amen to that. I was starting to think I’d be old enough to walk into a bar back on Terra before we saw action again.”

“We might need a drink or two once this mission’s in the log books.” Hunk swung in from the east, path as steady as the boulders Yellow Lion slept under.

“No kidding, big guy. We can stop this freighter today, but that’s just treating the symptom. Zarkon’s probably got a whole storehouse of firecrackers on Stamos. As long as he’s got a finger on the trigger we’ve got problems.”

Pidge’s grim assessment sobered Allura up from her power high. No one would be safe until the war had been brought to an end. How they would accomplish that…She stowed the thoughts away for later before they could cloud her focus. One daunting task at a time.

“Hi-ho, Red Lion, awaaaay!” Like a meteor, Lance streaked out of the south to join them.

A surge of vigor, an aura of rightness, coursed through Allura once all five of them were in formation. Her misgivings melted in a blaze of resolve. They would stop Zarkon or anyone who threatened peace in the universe, now and always. Together.

“All right. Let’s get free of the atmosphere and jump near those coordinates we received. We don’t want to be late for our date with the Drules,” Keith said. He sounded practically giddy under the Lions’ influence.

Lance’s answering catcall brought a grin to Allura’s face. He’d never been one to hide his enthusiasm for a good fight. “Hope the blues got some lube on board ‘cause they are so getting screwed.”

A collective groan went up over the comm link.

“Thanks for the image, Lance,” muttered Pidge.

“Dirty mind and a pretty face—it’s a combo that hasn’t gone wrong yet.”  
  
“Sure, if you don’t count the bar brawls and court martials,” Hunk chimed in.

And on they sparred until they had pierced the last layer of Arus’ atmosphere. As always, Allura took a moment to glance over her shoulder at the planet that was her home, history, and responsibility. It looked peaceful and untouched from space, its scars and ongoing struggles too small to see from that distance. So much larger than her, than any of them. And in turn, the vastness of the void surrounding it dwarfed the planet. Just one blue and white mote whirling in the great spiral of the Denubian Galaxy. It left her both awed and feeling like her bowels had liquefied at the same time. Tail lashing, she faced forward again.

They called the way the Lions traveled the immense distances of open space a jump, but only out of habit. Warping fit better—something the Alliance especially envied, and the Drules had refined long ago thanks to their monopoly on lazon. Without enough of the precious crystalline fuel source to power individual ships, humans had to make do with jump gates and the occasional natural worm hole.

Though those methods took longer, Allura preferred them, to be honest. Warping felt as unsettling as it sounded. Reality twisted and tore open under swipes from their claws. The rift they’d created yawned open like a toothless maw, blotting out the stars beyond. Bands of oily color swirled and rippled in its depths, some of which would have been beyond the ranges of her human sight or even comprehension. Infrared, ultraviolet, shades that were darker than black, brighter than white, and more that made the rainbow look tarnished and dingy.

The five of them plunged headlong into the otherworldly abyss. Time’s flow slowed to a trickle, then ceased to mean anything at all. Reality stretched and became one endless, fitful dream to Allura. Images and sensations drifted through the corridors of her mind like ghosts. The rays of the setting sun painting The Castle of Lions in shades of fire. Death’s sickly-sweet stench rolling off a corpse she had come across while sneaking out of the cave shelters, insects marching in lines down its empty eye sockets. Her now dead baby brother’s palms slapping against hers in a clumsy game of Pat-a-Cake. A burst of paradise in her mouth as she bit into the first bellberry she’d tasted in a decade. The piercing screams of fleeing people when Commander Yurak had attacked a half-rebuilt Leonne a year and a half ago. Keith’s eyes gleaming as he rallied them to battle.

Allura surfaced from the layers of memory with a gasp. If her actual body hadn’t already been sitting she might have collapsed.

“Everyone all right?” Even Keith’s voice wavered slightly.

“Man, that always freaks me out,” Hunk said. Yellow Lion’s head shook, as if trying to clear it.

“Reminds me of doing tequila shots back at the academy on the weekends,” added Lance with a groan, putting one paw over his muzzle. “Then waking up in a field the next morning without any pants or memory of how the hell I got there.”

Green Lion flicked its tail in a way that was almost smug. “I just run equations and code through my mind during the trip. I feel fine.”

“Show off.”

“Princess? Everything okay?” Black Lion looked at her.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the fist-sized ball that must’ve been the planet Stamos. “Yes, I’m fine now. Just shaking off the last of the strangeness.”

He nodded at her. “Let’s cloak then move in.”

Cloaking, fortunately, was a less unsettling experience. Her teammates simply rippled and shimmered out of existence. Cool energy washed over Allura as her own encompassed her like an invisible shell. Though unable to physically see them, she could still sense the other Lions through whatever link they shared. In formation, they proceeded toward Stamos, its features becoming clearer as they closed the distance. A huge continent dominated the side facing them. In the middle of it sat a huge sea or lake, the shape reminding Allura of a hoofprint. The planet looked healthy enough from there, but she wondered what the situation was on the ground. Imperial-held the message had said. Most likely its people had been enslaved, perhaps forced to work in factories and mines to produce Zarkon’s world-killing weapons. She wanted to swoop down, drive every last Drule from the planet, and free the rightful citizens. As Pidge had said, they were merely putting a band-aid on a blaster wound.

All a heads-on assault would accomplish, of course, was getting them killed. According to Lotor’s message, there were multiple bases, many of them housing armadas. It wasn’t one of the sparsely populated worlds with little military presence they had liberated in the past. The Drules were latched on like ticks, and she and the guys didn’t have the time or back-up to pick them off.

They stopped halfway between the planet and its nearest moon. In case things went “south”, as Lance put it, its craters and canyons would make convenient bolt holes.

“We have a window of a half an hour at best,” Keith reminded them. “So we go in hard and fast.”

Lance crowed. “I love it when you talk dirty to us, Chief.”

Despite the situation, Allura caught a hint of amusement coloring their captain’s voice. “Our priority is to disable that freighter and drag it back home. Lance, your Lion can withstand the most heat, so you take out the lazon cells. Pidge, I want the command bridge destroyed. The longer we can go without the Drules sending an SOS, the better. When you’re done with that, help Hunk, the princess, and me swat down the escort. Once Lance neutralizes the freighter’s jump capabilities we tow it back home ASAP. If we do this right, we won’t even need Voltron.”

“It feels weird when we don’t slice something in half at the end of a fight, though,” Hunk mock-whined. “It’s like going to a soccer game and walking out during the second half.”

“Change is good,” Allura cut in. “We send a robeast or fleet home in pieces practically every week as it is. It’ll be refreshing to destroy things with our own hands. Er, paws.”

Their laughter rang over the comm link, and distantly, she felt a grin spread across her face. Before the fifth member of the Alliance-sent team, Sven Holgersson, had been critically injured and captured by Zarkon’s witch Haggar, Allura might have found such pre-battle banter unthinkable—even arrogant. After flying Blue Lion and becoming a veteran herself, understanding had grown and taken root in her. Survival was as much a mental and emotional tribulation as it was a physical one. Downtime had nearly broken her nerve the first few times. Forced to wait, to do nothing but contemplate the mortal peril that would eventually break over them, terror, aggression, and regrets built up in someone like toxins. Joking, or to paraphrase Hunk, shooting the scatological reference, proved an effective way to release those corrosive humors and maintain morale. And if the fight did prove their last, at least they had gotten in a final laugh.

The remaining two and a half hours (Arusian Central Standard Time) passed smoothly, marked without error by some mysterious instinct present in their minds. At forty three minutes until the appointed moment, the sense that something approached sparked in Allura. The guys hadn’t missed it either, judging from the way the chatter died.

“Here they come,” said Keith, voice even and sure. “Hunk, Princess, trident formation.”

Dark dots appeared against the green, blue, and white backdrop of Stamos. Within minutes they formed into the silhouettes of ships. Two spike-crested carriers, their prows sticking up like the heads of monstrous raptor birds. Four sleek destroyers arranged in a square. And in the middle, the rotund, lumbering form of the freighter, its horned skull figurehead grinning at them as it came. Allura’s claws curled in anticipation.

“On my mark, we take the carrier on the port side out,” Keith told her and Hunk. “One.”

A subtle vibration rolled through Allura as the Drule ships’ scanners touched her, detecting nothing but empty space.

“Two.”

The first pair of destroyers cruised by. She felt Lance and Pidge drift higher, all the better to pounce on the freighter headed straight for them.

“Three!”

A battlecry erupted from Allura’s throat as her cloak tattered out of existence. Her comrades echoed her roar as they charged their prey. Warmth flowed across her side, a portion of her metallic flesh rearranging and molding itself into a missile launcher in response to her mental command.

The carrier never had a prayer.

Black Lion’s cross beam ripped into it from above. Stingray missiles streamed from Yellow’s mouth and turned its starboard side to slag. Her own stinger missiles shredded the other. Shrapnel flew in all directions, unchecked by the restraints of gravity. She could see the numerous explosions rocking the carrier from within when they swung around. Flames rippled in the darkness, riding the streams of pressurized gases that poured from the doomed ship to eventually dissipate in the void. Slowly, the carrier listed onto its side like a great, dying beast.

“Incoming fliers,” Keith said as the first wave of smaller fighter craft started to swarm out of the remaining carrier.

Searing-red laser fire streaked past Allura. She wove an evasive pattern while she picked out a flier in the crowd and charged it. It shot furiously at her, beams coming from the scorpion tail-shaped guns curved above and below its body. One grazed her shoulder, but she hardly noticed the stinging burst of pain. A leap closed the distance and she caught the helpless Drule flier in her jaws. One bite sheared it in half. She savored the taste of crushed alloys, fire, and vengeance before spitting the twisted wreckage out. There were plenty more where that came from.

Extending her forelegs, she deployed all eight of her claw missiles against the cloud of small craft in her way. They hit their marks, explosions flaring briefly then sputtering out, viable fuel eaten up. Shrapnel pelted Allura, but she growled and pushed through it to her real target. She could feel her claws and stinger missiles regenerating already, though it would still be several minutes yet. Instead, she summoned her Lion Sword, the trident-like blade taking shape in her jaws. Dancing around the laser cannon fire, Allura swung down beneath the carrier. Its weapons were few below, making it easy for her to slit open its hull. Vibrations shuddered through the vessel as Hunk, Keith, and finally Pidge struck from above. She relaxed her jaws when she pulled away, her blade melting back into the ether.

Auroras of ghostly green radiation, made visible by her borrowed eyes, billowed around the freighter. Several seconds later, Red Lion tore his way out of its hull like some nightmarish offspring.

“ _Adiós_ , _azulos_!” came Lance’s victory cry.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s real Spanish, McClain,” Hunk cut in.

“Neither is _this._ ” Red lifted one paw, middle claw extended toward Yellow. “Bet you get my meaning anyway, huh?”

 “Oh, you’re fluent in Dickish.”

“ _Ambos, mi amigo amarillo. Preg_ _úntale a tu mama._ ”

A chuff containing a mix of laughter and dismissal came out of the other Lion.

The same sixth sense that kept track of time in their heads let Allura know that most of the little lives inside the freighter were either guttering or had already been snuffed out. The radiation that felt no worse than summer sunshine against her hide proved less gentle to the Drule crew.

“Hey! Someone wanna give me a hand with these destroyers?” Green Lion sprang out of the way of a wave motion blast from one of the aforementioned ships’ main guns.

“Hunk and Lance, get some cables into that wounded freighter and tow it out of here,” ordered Keith. “The three of us will cover you.”

Inside of ten minutes, one of the front pair of destroyers became the destroyed. As advanced as the Drules shielding and weapon tech were, it couldn’t hold a chemlight to the scientific sorcery that had created the Lions.

By the time Yellow and Red had torn open a rift and hauled their prize to safety, she, Green, and Black had taken apart a second destroyer. The rear two, when they looked, had turned tail and started to flee toward the dozens of new dots that had appeared against the glow Stamos. With a roar, Allura made to pursue—no prey could outrun them.

“No! Let them go.” Keith’s stern voice cut through the haze of battlelust. “We got what we came for. If we follow, we’ll just run straight into that armada.”

Allura had trouble seeing the downside to that. Her tail thrashed, a growl rumbling inside her, while she watched her enemies escape to live another day.

It was borrowed time. She hoped they knew, down in the black pits of their souls, that she would be back to collect someday.

Forcing herself to turn away, Allura followed her comrades as they opened a new rift. All the way home, she dreamed of blood, flames, and the corpses of ships slowly rotating through the field of stars forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance's comment in Spanish to Hunk (if I'm not mistaken): "Both, my yellow friend. Just ask your mom."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura debates what to do with the weapons of mass destruction the Voltron team stole from Zarkon. Lotor makes good on his promise to call on her in her room again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to tuonetar, FlightFright, Geeeny, MalevoLiss(MissLissa1), Andelevion, Erisethx, spaceChai, Lightning_Streak, MadelineLime, and everyone who's stopped by to check out the fic, leave kudos, or reviews! 
> 
> By the way, can anyone point me toward sites/blogs/forums where I can find Legendary Defender writing prompts or challenges? I have a oneshot or two in the works, but it never hurts to have more sources of inspiration. I'd appreciate any help on tracking some down. And, of course, share any fics that result with you all. :)

“Oh, Allura! Are you well, child? Were you injured?”

She froze in the doorway to Castle Control, muscles tensed for violence as a large figure rushed her the moment the metal doors slid open. Her bared teeth brought the threat up short. A strangled sound squeaked from its throat. In the tense pause that followed, she blinked. Bit by bit, the lingering effects of the battle receded, and the round, ashen features of her would-be opponent took on familiarity.

“Nanny,” Allura said, a chill sluicing down her spine. Altarus preserve them, she’d nearly attacked the woman who had been like a mother to her. She swallowed hard, fumbling to untwist the threads of her true personality from the predatory instincts of Blue Lion.

“I’m all right.” She said it to herself as much as to the stunned woman standing before her. “None of us were injured. We caught the Drules completely off-guard. They didn’t have a chance.”

Shaking off her shock at the less than warm reception, Nanny bustled closer to resume fussing. “Hmph! No one was injured _this_ time, oh yes. How soon she forgets all the near misses, bruises, and kidnappings! And what about all the ones waiting in the future? You’re the first one the Drules target thanks to that misbegotten raider’s spawn, Lotor! What would we do if something were to befall you?”

And on the smothering went. Allura squashed the waspish retort that buzzed on her tongue. Beneath the abrasive layer of her old governess’ nagging laid genuine maternal fears and concern. Her methods of expressing them, though, did little to foster gratitude.

Once satisfied her charge was still in mint condition, Nanny took a step back. Allura seized the opportunity to duck past and join Coran at the control console.

“Well done, Your Highness.” His smile was visible even beneath the shelter of his moustache. “Have you given any thought as to what to do with our new acquisition?”

She nodded, warm as she basked in his pride. “I plan to ask Romelle and Bandor if they would spare some of the Polluxian fleet to help guard the freighter. We can park it between our planets until we find a safe spot to detonate and dispose of the bombs.”

Immediately, her advisor battened down his expression. “Are you certain it’s wise to throw away such an advantage, Highness?”

A worm of unease began to chew through her middle. “Advantage?”

“We now have a cache of highly advanced weapons to point our enemy’s way. Weapons that require little more than strategic placement.”

He said it so calmly, so simply, as if explaining to a child why she should drink her milk and go to bed early.

Allura’s blood turned to ice water in her veins. “No. Absolutely not. I refuse to use such abominable devices against anyone—even Zarkon. Voltron has protected us this far, and he will continue to do so.”

“I am not saying we must use them,” Coran replied, tone saturated with good sense. “But the threat of such weapons would make Zarkon think twice before menacing us or our allies again. This could be the leverage we need to negotiate a viable armistice with the empire.”

A growl rattled her vocal chords, another echo of Blue Lion’s influence. She fought to keep reason the guiding force behind her words. “There can be no peace if we’re both still essentially holding knives to each other’s throats. Arus will not use, store, or manufacture such weapons. It is what separates us from those like the Galra Empire. Am I understood?”

Coran’s mouth opened, but no argument sallied forth. Slowly, his lips sealed themselves again and he offered a brief bow. Allura smiled, the lines of her face stiff. Her advisor wasn’t defeated, she knew. He had merely declared a tactical retreat.

“Shall I open a channel to Her Highness, Princess Romelle and His Majesty, King Bandor on Pollux then?” he inquired.

It took a second to calculate what time it would be at her cousins’ palace. “Yes. We should catch them right after breakfast.”

Allura waited and watched while Coran went about the process of establishing a link between comm relays and satellites. She raised a hand to sweep a stray strand of hair back from her forehead, but stopped halfway through the motion, mesmerized by the sight. Such a puny, weak appendage. Nothing more than spindle-fine bones wrapped in fragile layers of tissue. Minimal force would shatter its mineralized structure, rend the strands of protein bound to them. Even slight change in temperature disturbed the spongy flesh. Not an hour ago she had traversed the vacuum of space without a shiver, but in the confines of Castle Control the warmth had already been leeched from her fingers. What did she hope to accomplish in this frail form? Her comrades waited for her among the stars, where there were enemies to slay and eternities to explore.

“Princess? Highness? _Allura!_ ”

With a disorienting sense of detachment, as though she were standing just outside her breakable body, she looked at Nanny. Hands on plentiful hips, the woman didn’t seem sure whether a scolding or sickbed was called for. The faint lines webbed around her eyes and mouth deepened. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you, child?”

Since it was impossible to translate mortality and the unfolding of the cosmos into simplistic mouth sounds, Allura shook her head. “I’m just a little weary from the battle.” Her voice sounded like it had come from the other end of a long tin pipe.

Nanny scoured her charge’s expression, finding nothing but a sort of serene emptiness. She gave a little huff but accepted the answer—it was, after all, something she could understand and deal with. “Well, go have a seat then before you tire yourself out more. I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.”

A twinge of emotion helped reel Allura back into herself. A small yet authentic smile crossed her face. “Thank you, Nanny.”

Misgivings exorcised, the woman shooed her into one of the technician’s chairs in front of the command panels before exiting. Soon after, Coran established a channel with Pollux. Once intentions were explained and word sent, Allura found herself facing the welcoming image of her two distant cousins.

“Romelle, Bandor! It’s wonderful to see you. I hope I didn’t drag you away from breakfast.”

Romelle shook her head, and as always, Allura couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of so many of her own features reflected in the other princess’ face. If not for the molten-red of her cousin’s hair, they might have been sisters. “We were just leaving the table when we received word. All is well?”

“As much as can be expected. We haven’t had any plagues of Drule fleets descend on us for a month now. Frankly, it was beginning to prey on our nerves.”

The tightness in the corners of Bandor’s blue eyes belied his boyish appearance. “We’ve suspected bigger trouble brewing from that corner ourselves. I’ve been in contact with Zaal, Titus, and some of our other allies as well as stepped up our stellar patrols, but none have caught a whiff of anything.”

“We wouldn’t have either, if not for a message we received this morning,” Allura said. She recounted the events pre- and post-battle, watching her cousins evolve from astonished to elated.

“Captain Kogane and the rest of the team are currently guarding the freighter and its cargo, at a safe distance from Arus in case this was a ploy so the Drules could detonate the explosives remotely,” she concluded. “I would like to request the aid of Polluxian ships in guarding this cargo until it can be safely disposed of.”

Bandor stood straighter, the cheer and color draining from his face until even his freckles looked pale. “You mean to get rid of this gift?”

Altarus’ breath, not them too.

Romelle’s features distorted into an expression too sharp, cold, and frightening to resemble Allura anymore. “You can’t. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

A sinking sensation swirled in her middle. “The intent of this mission was to stop these weapons from being used, not turn around and use them ourselves.”

“The only way to stop them for good is to eliminate the source. The Drules are savages, Allura. Technologically advanced and sophisticated in some ways, but peel away the veneer of civilization and you’ll find a culture driven by the most brutal, primitive decrees of nature. They aren’t like us or the worlds inside the Alliance’s fold. Bloodying their noses won’t drive them off. When there’s something they want nothing except superior strength or death will dissuade them. I should know.”

Her cousin’s words struck Allura like a dash of freezing water in the face, bringing life back into ruthless clarity. She caught movement toward the bottom of the screen as Bandor reached over to discreetly take his sister’s hand. Silence grew to an awkward length, no one knowing how to deal with the fallout of that verbal bombshell.

It had been the closest Romelle had come to discussing her ordeal as a captive on Doom. In lieu of working up the nerve to ask for a firsthand account, Allura had managed to stitch patches of the story together from various sources. The Drules, reneging on an alliance with Pollux, had mortally wounded Romelle’s father King Cova and then killed her elder brother Avok after he’d been morphed into a robeast, That much she knew from Voltron’s presence at the battle on the planet’s surface. Her cousin had been taken prisoner by Lotor sometime during the chaos, subjected to likely every violation imaginable at Galra Castle, and then survived the infamous Pit of Skulls with the help of Blue Lion’s former pilot, Sven. Allura doubted she could have endured one of those trials without her sanity splintering, nevermind all three in a row.

That had only been a prelude to the final horror of homecoming, though.

With Avok dead, Romelle had become the eldest and thus the heir to the throne. Yet when she’d finally been rescued from Doom, she found herself forced to greet Bandor, a mere fourteen at the time, as King of Pollux. During her captivity, her planet’s parliament of elders had placed the crown on her younger brother’s head. She had been presumed dead when Zarkon and Lotor made no demands, ran the official excuse; Pollux had needed a monarch to give the people a symbol of strength and stability during those terrifying and uncertain times. But their slapdash coat of apologetic deceit hadn’t concealed the rotten truth: No royal or aristocrat would accept Lotor’s leftovers as a wife, let alone a queen. Small wonder she had volunteered to join the guerrilla squads scattered throughout the empire along with Sven. The constant danger had to be preferable to the scorn whispered behind the hands of her own people whenever she passed.

The realization that a similar fate lurked inside her own realm of possibility made Allura’s idealism wilt along its edges.

“Point taken,” she said. Her voice sounded rough and loud after the long pause. “While my initial stance remains the same, perhaps we can come to a compromise. These weapons may be useful against Drule fleets. Or perhaps we can convert them to smaller parcels to be used in strikes against military targets.”

Coran rushed in to catch her train of thought. “There’s also much to be gleaned from the freighter and cargo itself. Any technology we can reverse engineer would help us close the advantage gap between us and the empire.”

Romelle’s features thawed somewhat, and she nodded. “First thing’s first, however. We have to keep the prize out of Drule reach and weather any retaliation they aim at us. Then we can decide what to do with it.”

“Agreed,” said Bandor. He might have worn the crown, but as many decrees had been born from his elder sister’s advice as his own will. “You may count on the Polluxian fleet to aid you with any operations, cousin.”

Allura’s guts loosened out of the knots they’d tied themselves into, and she bowed slightly. “Thank you both. Let me return to Blue Lion and regroup with the others. We’ll set up a comm link with you and Coran, then coordinate things from there.”

“Understood.” Dimples appeared in the young king’s cheeks as he smiled. “Thank you for sharing this with us, Allura.”

Some of her brother’s enthusiasm spilled over to Romelle. “We do appreciate it. It’s the best news we’ve had in too long.”

Though she forced herself to parrot their excitement, Allura’s thoughts had flown elsewhere. A whole new minefield of decisions lay strewn across the path to the future, with just two days to figure out how to navigate it. If ever there were a time she wished she had a fairy godmother that was it. Assuming, of course, that pumpkins could be turned into fightercraft as easily as they were into carriages.

 

**!**

Evening drew a cloak of shadows slowly over the forest, grassy grounds, and lake. Allura watched its advance from the terrace, one hand on the balustrade, feeling the last of the warmth the stone had soaked up during the day. Time had activated warp drive like it always did when she had much to be done on a short schedule. While no benevolent magical beings had put in an appearance, she’d managed to conjure a loose plan of action on her own for her second meeting with Prince Not-So-Charming. A bleak smile bent her lips as her other hand tightened on the energy pistol belted at her hip. It was no magic wand, but it would do.

Her eyes continued their steady sweep of the landscape. The largest moon had started its ascent, turning the scene into stark contrasts of silver space and black shadows. Minutes ticked along but still she caught no signs of movement. Perhaps the whole business with the freighter had been bait in a larger scheme, or a distraction. Give him a chance, fiddle di dee. A chance to betray her and attack—

The sound that tipped her off was faint, just the muffled thud of weight falling onto a solid surface. But it was more than enough to set her nerves clanging. Within an instant, Allura had executed an about face, pistol out and leveled at Lotor’s chest.

She knew wearing a practical shirt and slacks would be worth enduring Nanny’s disapproval.

Though the prince imperial raised his empty hands with no sudden movements, one corner of his lips twitched up. “You’re twice as sexy with a deadly weapon in your hand, did you know that?”

The trigger burned against her finger. “Back up. Slowly.”

He did as he was told, glittering eyes never leaving her face. Allura let him put a couple paces’ worth of distance between them before following. She glanced upwards just outside the terrace doors and spied a rope dangling above them, leading all the way to the top of the castle from what she could tell. So, that was the secret behind his little vanishing act. Stalking apparently inspired ingenuity, among other things.

When the backs of his knees bumped into her bed Lotor stopped.

“Sit—and spare me your crude quips,” she snapped before any could escape his half-open mouth.

Lotor remained silent, taking a seat, but his smile was innuendo enough. Worse, he set his hands flat on either side, fingers caressing her quilt, relishing the feel of the fabric. And all the while his hooded stare never stood down. Allura’s skin tried to creep right off her body. If this was what she had to put up with to mine information from him, then her career in espionage would be a short one.

“The explosives in that freighter,” she said.. “Were they meant for Arus?”

That snuffed out the primal gleam in his eyes. Lotor didn’t move, but she caught the thrum of tension in his arms and shoulders. His stroking fingers went still.

“Yes.”

Just a single word, but it stole all the air from the room. A quiver infected Allura’s knees, and she had to tense her legs to keep it from spreading. If she hadn’t already had two days to drain the clot of horror, terror, and outrage from her mind, she probably would have gone to pieces in front of him. As it was, she struggled to keep her aim steady.

“Who ordered the explosives to be shipped?” she asked.

“My father, of course. Who else?” He could’ve bluffed the spirit of truth while hooked up to a polyrhythm monitor with the aura of sincerity surrounding him.

A couple of years ago she might have bought it. Her time spent above ground as a prime Drule target had taught her suspicion, and the learning curve had been more of a vertical line.

“So you didn’t set the whole thing up to, say, make yourself look like the savior of Arus and impress me?” she asked.

Lotor blinked once.

Then collapsed on her bed, paralyzed by spasms of full-throated laughter.

Allura grit her teeth and weighed the pros and cons of pulling the trigger. She could just say she’d done it in self-defense. No one would doubt her…

“Finished?” Cheeks hot enough to glow in the dark, she scowled at him while he finally righted himself.

“On the contrary,” he replied, another round of chuckles streaming from him. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“Just answer my question!”

He showed off his sharp canine teeth in a grin. “I did.”

Her plans of premeditated murder must have shown in her eyes because he followed up with a wave of his hand.

“Let me put it this way, Allura. If I were going to stage an elaborate production to cast myself as the dashing hero and sweep you off your feet, it wouldn’t involve billions in damage to imperial property, or the deaths of highly trained personal.” The last vestiges of his mirth evaporated. “Make no mistake. The threat is real.”

She wanted to brand him a liar. Things would be so much simpler that way. She could kick him out of her room, her world, her life. Then she and the guys could return to fighting robeasts instead of trying to brace for a menace that had no face—that would come without warning from any and all sides. For once, though, she sensed no taint of deceit, and logic corroborated his words.

Trust Lotor to pick the worst possible time to start telling the truth.

“ _Why?_ ” Her voice nearly cracked on the word.

A faint V appeared between the prince imperial’s pale brows. “Why what?”

“Why obliterate Arus? Why destroy its people? What changed?”

“Nothing. And that’s precisely the problem.” He drew in a deep breath, a sure sign that predictions of doom were to follow. “Voltron, and by extension Arus, has been a constant wrench in my father’s plans for years now. First Yurak failed to remove the problem, and then I didn’t do much toward that end either. So, the old man figured another approach was long overdue.”

That night’s dinner threatened revolt inside her stomach. “ _Approach_ _?_ He meant to obliterate life on my entire planet!”

“Yes, and he’s going to succeed if we don’t work together to stop him. To that end, I suggest you order the Lions separated and stationed on different planets for the present.”

“What?” Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull and out onto the floor like ping-pong balls.

“Black Lion should remain here on Arus,” he continued, as if he hadn’t spouted madness and heresy in the same breath. “Zaal’s deserts would be ideal for Yellow. Green and Red could fit many places, but Pollux is the best choice for yours. Not only is there a waterway in front of the palace, but you’ll have a second pilot for Blue Lion on hand in case you need one.”

Like the times she’d watched some celebrity on the holo strutting around in a hideous outfit, Allura had to admire the ego that gave birth to such audacity even as she itched to grind it into the dirt. “The Lions aren’t going anywhere, least of all where you want to send them!”

Though he was the one under the gun, Lotor still managed to send her a stern look down his nose—she swore he must have taken notes on Nanny’s techniques. “You’re only making yourself and the rest of the Voltron Force a tidy target for my father by clustering in one place. By separating and utilizing your allies’ resources, you’ll present him with a larger front.”

“No! You’re just trying to divide us so you can attack Arus without Voltron interfering!”

“Oh please, Allura. Occasional ignorance is excusable, but this is outright burying your head in the sand. Your precious deus ex mecha alone isn’t going to see you through this war.”

Her jaw set in a stubborn scowl. “The Lions stay.”

Groaning, he ran his hands down his cheeks. “Grieving gods, your skull is more heavily armored against reason than Romelle’s is!”

He couldn’t have thrown her righteous fury lever any harder. Allura stared at him, unblinking, through the sights of her pistol.

“Is that what you did to Romelle? _Reasoned_ with her?” The heat in her tone had dissipated, leaving only a piercing, controlled coldness behind.

Expression as inscrutable as a cat’s, Lotor stared at her in silence. She gave him a subzero smile. Hadn’t thought that skeleton would come rattling out of the closet, had he? He’d probably counted on her being dazzled by the shining armor of his new role, his past crimes absolved in a baptism of gratitude. One step in the right direction didn’t erase the dark, twisted path he had blithely treaded his whole life, though. Not a bit.

“I don’t know, Allura. Why don’t you tell me what I did to her?” Tilting his head, he folded his arms across his chest.

“The same things all men with too much power and too little heart do: abuse, degrade, sully, destroy. Romelle endured hell at your hands.”

“Really? She said that?”

She made a scoffing sound. “My cousin doesn’t have to put her pain on dis—”

“Did she say I stormed her damn castle gates or not?”

“There were bruises from head to toe on her!” Allura shouted, flailing her hands in the air.

He did a slow shake of his head. “No man, including me, gave them to her.”

Despite the growing ache in her arm, she leveled the pistol at him again. “I’m not in the mood for word games, Lotor. However she got them, you were still responsible.”

“I-nal-kai Ku-halth.” 

“What—”

“It’s a soul journey— _Kuhalth_. What humans would call a code or path. Sometimes a Drule will choose to dedicate his or her life to one, learning a specialized set of skills or fighting style.”

“Your point being?” she huffed.

“Haven’t you ever wondered how a sheltered princess managed to become a sniper and demolitions expert while the captive of an evil empire?”

“Sven—”

“Only helped polish her education further when they met in the Pit’s tunnels. He didn’t set its foundations.” Lotor’s eyebrows quirked up, daring her to contradict him.

It was his turn to play the jester while Allura cawed laughter. “You honestly expect me to believe,” she gasped out between gales, “that my cousin joined some sort of secret Drule society? Romelle, who wanted me to turn around and incinerate your world when I talked to her two days ago? And here I was thinking you were some master of deceit!”

Drawing the tattered shreds of his dignity around himself, Lotor sat tall, refusing to drop the charade. “Romelle was trained by followers of a path—I never said that she appreciated or enjoyed it. But yes, believe it or not, she earned her bruises from practice sessions with women of _Inalkai Kuhalth_.”

“Sorry, I’m all stocked up on BS at the moment. Try a few doors over—maybe the neighbors want some.” She silently thanked Lance for being a constant source of comeback gems.

“Your tongue could flay flesh from bone, my princess.” He heaved a sigh. “Ask Romelle for yourself. Don’t assume you know the story like those who turned their backs on her do.”

The hint of bitterness in his voice pierced right through Allura’s armor of skepticism. Her next retort stalled in her throat. His excuse was thinner than an asteroid’s atmosphere, of course. The idea that she was being judgmental, about him of all people, even more so.

Except when she considered the possibility that both were too absurd not to be true. Lying and manipulation were pillars of Lotor’s personality. So wouldn’t he be able to conjure up a more artful story rather than simply shifting the blame? Unless he’d counted on her thinking that. Or maybe he knew that she would know and—

Allura shook her head before her mind became completely tangled in the knot of thoughts. She could let her speculations eat their tails, or she could take the direct route to the truth. Lotor had a point in that much at least.

“Fine,” she said, scrunching her nose as though the word left a foul taste behind. “I’ll ask Romelle.”

Lotor didn’t relax, but he nodded. “Tell her I said Ailonti of the Shadow Heart sends her regards. That will be enough.”

Due to the burning throb that had pulsed to life in her shoulder, Allura lowered her weapon, but didn’t even think of holstering it. “I’m still not moving the Lions, though.”

“Your fuzzy-faced strategist may have an opinion on that. Speaking of strategy, what is yours in regards to the freighter?”

She tapped the pistol against her thigh, smile filled with poisoned sweetness. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He rolled his yellow eyes heavenward, hands out and beseeching the Powers for patience. “Just as well, I suppose—you’d only contradict my advice anyway, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s part of my mystique.”

Blowing out a long breath, he raked fingers through his hair. “Have it your way. Just don’t complain about the added danger.”

Allura lifted her chin. “I never do.”

That shut him up. After considering her proud, regal stance for a moment, Lotor awarded her a nod. “Well then, shall we unlock horns and separate now, or can you tolerate me a little longer? I did promise you language lessons.”

“If I haven’t vomited by now, I probably won’t.”

His smirk fell somewhere between an eight and nine on Lance’s patented Kiss-My-Ass scale.  “Good. I want you to learn quickly so you’ll understand when the time comes.”

Despite her better instincts, she swallowed the bait. “Understand what, dare I ask?”

“ _Matal neés ue_. Or ‘I told you so.’ ”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura considers the unthinkable: that Lotor could have a point about moving the Lions. After a morning jog, she and Keith have a moment out in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to tuonetar, FlightFright, Geeeny, MalevoLiss (MissLissa1), Andelevion, Erisethx, spaceChai, Lightning_Streak, MadelineL, and everybody who read, reviewed, or gave kudos! You're all the bee's knees!
> 
> @MadelineLime: So happy you're enjoying! Lance is definitely the king of making people go lol.
> 
> @MalevoLiss: Lance has always been a crowd-pleaser no matter what version he appears in, so I'm glad I can keep up the tradition. As for a my-Lance-centric fic...I will have to give it a go in the near future. :)
> 
>  
> 
> @MadelineL: Isn't it? That was kind of the one thing a lot of the Voltron shows lacked, I felt: the usual bickering between people supposedly on the same "side". Voltron can cut giant monsters in half and destroy fleets, but he's no good at negotiations. Guess that's why the creators stuck to the giant robot action script, haha!

A gentle shake roused Allura from the netherworld of sleep. Her eyes cracked open, bright reality replacing hazy images from already fading dreams. She squinted up at Nanny, then at the wooden serving tray she held. A shot of adrenaline kicked her pulse up a gear as she realized what they signified.

“What time is it?” she asked, springing to a sitting position.

The other woman set the tray on the nightstand and wiped her plump hands on her apron. “Mid-morning, but think nothing of it. You are hardly the only one who missed breakfast—even Captain Kogane was late. The battle took its toll on all of you.”

That, and in her case, staying up well into the night learning an alien alphabet. Allura relaxed, flipping the covers off and swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. “Thank you.”

Nanny’s smile deepened the faint lines of worry, pain, and laughter around her eyes that recorded the years of tragedy and triumph she had survived. “We all deserve a lazy day in bed once in a while, Highness.”

“Nanny…”

“Yes?”

Looking into her surrogate mother’s wise, curious brown eyes, Allura could almost believe it was safe to ask her for advice. How to handle deals with megalomaniac alien men while avoiding genocide—that would be a cozy, pleasant chat, surely.

“Could I bother you to get a little bellberry jam for my toast?” she finished with a spasm of guilt within.

“Of course, Highness. Just one minute.”

A little after said minute, Allura stood on the terrace munching toast and basking in the mid-morning sunshine. Everything—the war with the Drules, Lotor’s murky morality, the terrible fate hanging over her planet in general—felt like a bad dream with the bright blue of the sky arched overhead and families of water birds drifting in dotted white lines across the surface of the lake. She wanted to believe things would work out somehow in the end…but “somehow” left too much to chance. Arus needed a plan if it was to survive. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized taking a purely defensive stance decreased the odds of that. As much as she hated to admit it, her cousins, Coran, and, cosmos help her,even Lotor had a point.

Any way she sliced it, she was either going to have to sacrifice her principles or her planet.

Appetite withering, Allura went back inside, dressed and pinned her hair up for the day, then headed to Castle Control for the one thing she’d been dodging: a second opinion.

She found Coran there as expected, but almost turned tail and fled when she spotted Pidge and Keith keeping him company. The second occupied the center console chair, fingers dancing over the input pad like a virtuoso pianist’s. Strategist and captain watched over his shoulders, their glazed, uncomprehending gazes fixed on the rows and columns of data that ebbed and flowed on all three screens. Allura grabbed her courage by the scruff before it could slink away. If they discovered what she’d been up to and with who, so be it. Better her pride take the fall than Arus. Propping her lips up into a smile, she walked up behind them and tried not to think guilty thoughts.

“Morning, everyone.” She kept the cheer in her voice carefully modulated. “What’s all this?”

“Mister Stoker is currently working on locating the source of our mysterious benefactor’s message,” answered Coran, his tone implying that’s about all he knew on the matter.

“Not having much luck, though,” Pidge admitted. “Whoever sent it didn’t want to be found. Their message didn’t transmit from one place—it came from dozens and fractured into smaller bits as it hit relays along the way.” He sighed and stopped pecking at the input pad long enough to push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “So far it’s been like digging tiny scraps of paper out of the trash and gluing them together one at a time. With tweezers. I’m not going to have any answers for a while, in other words.”

“Would it help if we received another?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Depends. If the pathways differ, that might help me start to narrow down a trajectory. At this point, the message could have come from anywhere. Some pieces originated or bounced off of Alliance, Galran, Supremacy, and even Arusian sources, to name a few.”

An uneasy silence oozed over the room. None of them found the thought of a stranger, benign or otherwise, having so much influence over the sophisticated equipment of various empires and worlds, including theirs, comforting. It made Allura wonder just how many political strings Lotor could pull. Speaking of the Prince Imperial…

She cleared her throat, earning the attention of all three men. Instantly, hot blood filled her face. “I had this, um, idea. About, uh, the Lions.”

Keith and Coran exchanged glances.

“What is it, Princess?” the former asked, slant of his brows intrigued rather than incensed.

“Well, I figured…erm…maybe we should move them? To different spots, away from Arus?” Her voice cracked on a wavering, uncertain note. “I know it’s a huge risk and leaving the planet vulnerable and everything,” she rambled on when no one responded immediately, “but maybe it might help to keep Zarkon from attacking right away if we’re not all conveniently in one place. We can have the populace return to the underground shelters, just in case.”

“Actually, Princess…I was discussing the idea with Coran before you came in,” Keith said.

Halfway through linking together to form another justification, Allura’s thoughts fell apart. “Wait, you were?”

“I thought about it while we were towing the freighter home. But I held off on mentioning anything because I figured you would be against it.”

And parts of her still were. A frightened piece that screamed such a move would leave her people wide open for annihilation, and another, petty, spiteful one that couldn’t stand the thought of Lotor being right. Yet the fact that Keith approved only cemented what she’d grudgingly realized: The plan made the most tactical sense. Besides, at that point she couldn’t very well recant without looking bonkers.

“Different threats call for different defenses, right?” she said with a stiff smile.

“Indeed.” Coran stroked the illustrious bristles of his moustache while giving her a stare that couldn’t decide whether to approve of her change of heart or morph into suspicion. “I suggest we set up paired patrols, two Lions running a circuit by the freighter and Arus at all times. If Black remains stationed here and the other four are strung along our border allies’ worlds, I believe that will work quite smoothly…”

In the end, it was decided she would take Blue Lion to Pollux and stay with her cousins if they agreed to the arrangement, which they certainly would. Allura had few doubts that Lotor would be able to reach her just as easily there as he did on Arus. She silently cursed him, swearing she could sense his smirk even from light years away.

“One thing’s for sure,” Pidge said as the impromptu meeting concluded. “We can’t fight Zarkon the same way we have been. The rules have changed.”

Coran nodded, unsmiling. “Whether we can turn them to our advantage remains to be seen. We must wait and prepare as best as we are able.”

“On that note, I’m long overdue for my morning run.” Keith stretched both arms over his head, then patted his flat stomach. “No point in going soft while we wait.”

“I think it’s going to take more than a morning before that happens,” Allura responded with a laugh.

“You let one run slide and it’s a slippery slope from there.” His mouth bent into one of its slight smiles. “Care to join me, Princess?”

Surprise flashed through her at the invitation, with pleasure fluttering in its wake. Recovering, she folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow his way. “What are you trying to say?”

He raised his hands, smile growing. “Just that you’re someone who can keep up—and will probably make me push myself even harder.”

“Good save, Chief,” Pidge laughed.

“Well, when you put it that way…” She beamed at the captain. “Let me get changed and we’ll go.”

The exchange earned them both a long look from Coran. Her advisor’s deep set eyes reflected no disapproval like Nanny’s would have, but she knew the details and event had been stored away in his mind for further analysis and monitoring. Shoving her irritation aside before it could dissolve her mood completely, Allura hurried back to her room.

Fifteen minutes later she was jogging alongside Keith in a pair of black workout pants and stretchy pink tanktop tight enough to make Nanny froth at the mouth. Despite his earlier flattery, she knew he kept the pace easy because she was unfamiliar with his route. And maybe, she admitted to herself, she felt slightly grateful because it had been awhile since she’d exercised.

Though the day had grown warm, the sun nearly in its noon zenith, their path took them around the trees skirting the lake before ducking into the forest proper and its sheltering shade. Allura slipped into the rhythms of running like a form of meditation, troubling thoughts of the future fading from her mind. All that existed was the push and pull of her breath in the present, and the simple joy of her muscles working in harmony.

They stopped nearly an hour later by one of several pools fed by the stream that threaded through the forest. Both of them indulged in the bracing pleasure of splashing cool water on their flushed faces before sipping a few handfuls of it.

“I don’t think you’re the one who needs to worry about going soft,” Allura said, flicking the last droplets from her fingers. “I’ve been sitting at my desk too often because that was a little tougher than it used to be.”

Keith shrugged, sitting back and stretching his legs in the tender grass. “You don’t have the luxury of as much free time as the rest of us.” His phantom smile flickered back onto his face. “Besides, I’m sure paperwork burns some calories.”

“It definitely burns brain cells.” She sat beside him.

The next couple of minutes passed in a silence neither of them felt the need to break. Allura stared up at the patterns of gold and green that made the tree canopy, drinking in the beauty of the light, songs of the creatures inhabiting the forest, and caress of the wind. Things she’d bled and risked her life for and would do so again in a heartbeat.

“I’m proud of you, Princess.”

Allura blinked, turning her gaze on Keith. The captain himself looked just as surprised by his words, like they’d been waiting for a moment when his guard dropped so they could sneak out. His usual mask of calm control had slipped, leaving his brown eyes wide and uncertain, his mouth distorted in a half grimace. If someone had asked her seconds ago whether he was capable of something like blushing she would have sworn the answer was no, but proof to the contrary had suffused his cheeks and forehead. In that instant he became the young man he might have been had life lightened his burdens along the dark roads it had forced him to travel.

“Proud of me? For what?” Allura asked.

He hesitated, as though considering backing off from the subject, but gathered his composure around himself and soldiered on. “For not jumping at the chance to use those weapons. A lot of other people wouldn’t have thought twice—especially after what you and Arus have suffered under the Drules. Terran history is full of nations doing horrific things to each other. My father’s own ancestors destroyed a country’s naval port across the ocean, and they retaliated with atomic bombs not long after. Racism, bitterness, radioactive fallout—the effects lasted long after the war was declared over. Coran and your cousins may disagree, but…I just want you to know I think you did the right thing. And me and the other guys will back you one hundred percent.”

Her reply became wedged in her throat, gummed up in the ball of emotion there. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes and she blinked rapidly to fend them off. The doubt, fear, and pressure that had been slowly crushing her didn’t disappear, but she felt her spirit brace and surge with renewed strength under its weight. Giving up on trying to speak, she held her hand out to him. Keith’s mouth fell open slightly, then closed into a serious line as he took hold of hers and gave a gentle squeeze. His skin felt warm, the rasp of callouses stretched across his palm. The sunlight glinted in his eyes, filling them with rich, varying shades like polished wood.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd touched someone as an equal. Or think of anyone else she'd rather be considered on the same level with.

“We should head back,” he said, pulling away before the moment tapered into awkwardness. “It tends to get even warmer out here in the afternoon.”

“All right.” Getting up, she started picking stray bits of grass from her pants. She held the last one, rolling it between her fingers. “Keith?”

He looked up from dusting off his own clothing. “Yeah, Princess?”

With an impish grin, she flicked the blade of grass into the captain’s startled face and took off at full speed. “Race you!”

“Hey, no fair!” But she heard the laughter in his voice.

“Sorry! Can’t hear you over the sound of me winning!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor has a chat with his dear old dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter has brief depictions of physical torture and overtones of parental abuse. While not prolonged or particularly graphic (to me), I'd like to give people the opportunity to proceed with caution if either topic is triggering in their personal experience.
> 
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> 
> Thank you, as always, to all those who have been so kind as to read, review, or bestow kudos! You are the quiznaking best.
> 
>  
> 
> @MadelineL: Oh, he will in a few chapters. And his approach is...um...decidedly different from Keith's. ^^;

When an imperial page met him in the landing bay, Lotor knew he wouldn’t be getting the meal and hot bath he wanted right away.

“Greetings, Imperial Highness,” the page said in the standard, inflectionless tone all her kind used even if they’d been announcing the end of the universe. “His Imperial Majesty requires your august presence in the throne room.”

Requires. Translation: if he didn’t show up within the next five minutes heads would roll, including his own. Lotor withheld his sigh.

“Tell my father I’m on my way.”

After a parting bow, the page walked off with an impressive, distance-eating stride the most dedicated soldier would have had trouble matching. Choosing a much more sedate pace, Lotor followed, thoughts swarming like insects around a disturbed nest. His father suspected him. That much he could be certain of. How deeply, what proof, if any, existed to support the notion, and what the old man would do about it were the questions that gnawed him.

Trying to guess how his father would react to anything was like betting on where lightning would strike. In the end, all one could do was try to endure the storm and thank whatever Powers they preferred if they survived to rebuild in the aftermath.

The massive double doors at the end of the corridor stood ajar, bisecting the polar halves of Grussenth’s carven visage with a bright, golden line. As he approached, the haughty scowl on the Dominion side of the deity’s face appeared to deepen, demanding to know why a mere mortal prince hadn’t yet fallen to the floor and groveled for his insignificant life. The Servitude part only simpered, golden gaze not daring to suggest anything. No sound filtered out into the passageway. A bad sign—tirades ranked as the most benign form of his father’s displeasure, and if he wasn’t yelling that meant he was saving his wrath for other options.

“Your pardon,” Lotor murmured to Grussenth’s sterner side, putting his hands against the dark, varnished wood and shoving the door open. As with any battleground, his first priority became surveying the landscape and what forces had gathered there. Few figures stood in the cavernous room. A good omen—if his father hadn’t called in the court to be his audience that meant he probably didn’t plan on killing anyone at the moment. The old pirate was nothing if not a showman.

None of that knowledge would have come as a comfort to the officer laying on his back, hands bound to ankles and stripped to the waist, at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne dais. Long, thin metallic pins bristled in bunches from nerve centers in his broad shoulders, crisscrossed through his nipples, speared strategic spots in the underside of his jaw, and pierced his finely pointed ears. The old man sat astride his victim, one hand gripping the officer’s short indigo hair by the roots, and the other dipping the end of a new pin into a jar of black goo.

Talons of ice raked Lotor’s heart when he recognized the pain-pinched features of the poor bastard as Saffrin’s. He watched, pulse pounding in his temples, while the pin was pushed up into some agonizing soft spot inside his friend’s nostril. Saffrin’s eyes, previously bleary, flared wide, his pupils devouring the gold surrounding them. His mouth yawned open, but no sound spilled out immediately. Lotor’s nails bit into his palms, toes curling in his boots, as he imagined Saffrin absorbing the excruciating sensations, letting them impress upon his spirit like brutal fingers on a lump of clay as his _kuhalth_ dictated. His friend’s blood-speckled chest hitched when he drew in a deep breath, held it for an eternal moment, and then finally released it in a scream that reverberated off the black, gleaming stone walls of the room. At the end of it his body continued to suffer small scale convulsions. Sweat glimmered on his skin, fluids streaming from his nose and tightly closed eyes.

The old man turned his gaze from his handiwork to Lotor. “Trust you to have a follower of _Auzuns Kuhalth_ for a second-in-command. They’re a damn nuisance to torture information out of.”

Lotor’s initial impulse involved rushing the godforsaken tyrant and hacking him to quivering bits with his sword. Since that option proved beyond reach with Haggar, his father’s witch, sitting on the steps to throne, he heeded the wisdom of his own path. Resolve heated by his fury, he folded his fear into it and used his loathing to hammer it into an ever-stronger shape.

One day he would bring his father toppling down from the mountain of broken tradition and lives he’d built the empire on. But that day wasn’t it.

“It looks as though you’ve been giving it your best effort even so, Father,” Lotor replied in a weary tone.

With a snort, the old butcherer rose from his perch on Saffrin’s chest, the crimson folds of his royal cloak gathering around him like the wings of one of the scavenger birds that forever wheeled above the Pit of Skulls. “Hardly. I figured it was mostly a waste from the start, but it did help pass the time until you saw fit to return.” The serrated, fin-like ears alongside his head—so different from Lotor’s own—twitched forward slightly when his head tilted into an inquisitive angle. “So, boy, are you going to confess where you’ve been, or should I have my better set of tools fetched?”

Lotor knew better than to lie outright. He needed to blend fiction with the proper amount of truth to produce a smokescreen for him and Saffrin to hide behind. One drop too much of either, though, and both of them would wind up scattered in pieces across the throne room floor—at best.

Releasing a sigh through his nose, he folded his arms across his chest with just the right hint of petulance. “I went to Arus. You decreed that I was banned from leading a fleet there, as I recall, not from going to the planet by myself. What of it?”

His father’s sharp teeth gleamed ghastly white against his blue-violet skin. “Ah, now that I’m not surprised to hear. But tell me, my beloved, brick-headed son, what was so important on Arus that you were willing to twist my words and risk my displeasure for it?”

Caution—the pivotal part had arrived. He sketched out a quick prayer for guidance to Ufalta, both to the deity’s aspect of Truth as well as Deceit. Voice laced with a smoldering bitterness he didn’t have to feign, Lotor answered, “You know exactly why.”

The old man regarded him with hooded eyes for a long, terrible moment. Weighing the words, tone, and expression used to deliver them. Testing for hollow spots, secret catches, and cracks.

“Alfor’s daughter.” Not a question. An accepted fact. Hope lingered yet.

“Of course I mean Allura! I certainly didn’t go there to watch her damn governess!”

“Watch. Is that all you did? You’re sure you didn’t see fit to slip your pretty princess or those Terrans a helpful tidbit or two?” His father’s voice held no edge of anger or displeasure, taking on a softer, almost confidential quality. “I know how it feels to stand on the edge of ruin with something I want dangling just out of reach.” A small chuckle at his own expense rumbled in his chest. “Oh, Lymira, how I know. It can drive one to anything. Taint reasonable people with madness. Make contentment dry up and blow away into despair. Motivate murder. Divide loyalties.”

The words promised understanding, even forgiveness. All they required in return was a confession.

Long, faint scars still crisscrossed Lotor’s back from when he’d last fallen for that trick at the age of five. He had no trouble summoning a sneer. “Yes, Father. I strolled right up to the Castle of Lions’ front gate and they welcomed me with every civility. Why, Allura herself served me tea as we chatted about the weather and how best to confound your plans. In fact, I’ve been invited for dinner next week. I’ll give the Voltron Force your regards and bring you back some dessert. I know how you love sweets.”

Slowly, step by step, his father closed the distance between them. Even as an adult, Lotor still had to crane his neck back to maintain eye contact, the old man a good head and a half taller. One of his father’s hands came to rest on Lotor’s shoulder like a huge, purplish arachnid.

“It’s good to see you keeping your sense of humor about you, my boy. Because you’re going to find precious little to laugh about if I do discover you whispering more than sweet nothings in your princess’ ear.” The long, clawed fingers increased pressure until Lotor knew he’d bear bruised imprints for days. “You may have managed to kill your competition and stay my only heir all these years, but I don’t have to execute you to make you pay for treason, nor do I have to touch you to make you suffer.”

As if to emphasize, a low moan drifted up from Saffrin.

“I know, Father,” Lotor said, mouth deformed by an acerbic smile. “I learned that the night you butchered Mother here in this room.”

For an instant, something flickered behind the old man’s eyes. Not remorse—nothing so farfetched—but…nostalgia perhaps. Whether for the memory of his late captive bride as she’d been in life, or how it felt to murder her, Lotor couldn’t say.

The crushing hand loosened and drew away at last. “Then you are wiser than she was, if just as meddlesome.”

His pulse rate dropped along with the tension in the air. “May I have my second-in-command back?”

Stare fixed on nothing in particular over in the far corner, his father nodded. “Haggar.”

Within the shadows of her cowl, the witch’s yellow eyes glinted like that of her cat’s, who lay curled in her lap. “My emperor?”

“Assist the prince in putting his friend back together.”

“As you command.” After shooing her familiar from his sleeping place (earning her a loud yowl of protest) she straightned her stooped form into a standing position, brushing blue strands of fur from her robe.

Sauntering toward the doors, the old man spared a last glance over his shoulder. “And, son? I advise you to do whatever you mean to do on Arus quickly. Because that miserable backwater isn’t going to get a third chance.” On that note, he made his exit.

Apprehension slid down Lotor’s spine like the cold tip of a blade. Appeal as he might to his ingenuity, every scenario ended with his father’s words proving true.

Another groan reminded him the present needed his attention more at the moment.

“Saffrin.” Kicking the little pile of unused pins away, Lotor knelt at his friend’s side. He reached out to touch Saffrin’s shallowly rising and falling chest, but hesitated, not wanting to cause more harm.

“Allow me, my prince.”

He looked up into Haggar’s face. Her blackened skin crinkled around her glowing eyes and withered lips like ancient leather when she smiled. “I can pull those out of him with much less fuss than your father put them in.”

Since he hadn’t excelled at healing people quite as much as he had at killing them, Lotor moved aside and she crouched in his place. Coba, her ever-present feline familiar, padded over to lap at a trickle of blood that had dribbled down Saffrin’s ribs, earning a half-delirious giggle.

“What is this?” Lotor dared to ask, motioning to the jar of cloying, viscous glop his father had dipped the pins in.

“Only toxic secretions from the quilmia, a rather interesting amphibian native to Meera that the emperor read about recently, Highness. It causes a good deal of pain and skin irritation, but isn’t fatal to someone so large unless given in fatal doses.” Without causing even a twitch, she plucked the pin skewering Saffrin’s nostril out. Producing a silk kerchief from a pocket in her robe, she wiped the blood, tears, and mucus from his face with swift efficiency.

“How long did my father have him here?”

“Oh, a little over an hour before you returned. You’ve picked your friends wisely, Highness. This one said nothing that the emperor could use against you.”

Joy didn’t number among the emotions that formed the heavy, frozen lump sitting in the pit of Lotor’s stomach as he watched Haggar remove the rest of the impromptu piercings.

While he had been coming home, all smiles after his visit with Allura, Saffrin—his friend, his shield, and nearest thing to a brother he’d ever have—had borne the brunt of the old man’s curiosity. He could make the excuse that winning Allura over was vital because she was the key to obtaining Voltron for the empire and for those who wanted to see his father overthrown.

Except she wasn’t. She was one human girl among myriads. The empire wouldn’t crumble without her. Those who hated the current regime could live their whole lives without hearing her name. Even Voltron, in the end, was merely gold plating on the prize.

The truth was Lotor needed her. It was as simple, reckless, and selfish as that.

“Your pout is going to have hordes of squealing admirers descending on this place. Stop this instant.”

Lotor twitched at the sound of Saffrin’s hoarse, strained admonishment. He looked down to meet his friend’s exhausted but mostly lucid gaze.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re tied up. I can just throw you to them and make my escape while they have their way with you instead.”

“Hm…in that case, carry on.”

The scraggly remains of Haggar’s eyebrows quirked up, but she remained silent. At a gesture from her, Lotor helped roll Saffrin onto his side. The witch untied the ropes binding his ankles and hands together with nimble, taloned fingers and they slithered loose like the coils of a dead serpent. Wincing with each move, Saffrin slowly straightened his limbs. He waved Lotor’s offered hand aside and sat up himself, only a few droplets of fresh blood trickling down his skin. Fingers quivering, he wiped one away from his upper lip as it slipped out of his nose.

“You’ll want to have the punctures cleaned,” commented Haggar, joints creaking when she stood. “The quilmia toxin may not kill you, but it and the pins were hardly sterile. And I’m certain you’re still feeling the sting, hm?”

“It’s definitely reminding me what it means to follow Auzuns Kuhalth.”

“Thank you, Haggar,” Lotor said, and even meant it somewhat.

The witch shrugged. “If you really want to thank me, Highness, come to my lab once you’ve seen to your second. I would appreciate your input on a new robeast design I’ve drafted.”

There hadn’t been any need for such a thing since his father had grounded him. Lotor stared askance at her, but eventually nodded.

“Very well. I will call on you within the hour.”

She showed fangs the color of old ivory in a wide smile before turning, drab robe swirling about her feet, and hobbling away, Coba at her heels.

“I’m going to have to show Lady Haggar some appreciation too,” Saffrin rasped. “The emperor’s original plans for me involved stripping skin and a bucket of salt water, but she stepped in and suggested something that would leave fewer…reminders.”

“Well, the sooner I get you to your room and summon a physician, the sooner you can do so. Come.”

His friend accepted help to his feet. Lotor found Saffrin’s dark blue and gold uniform shirt discarded on the first step to the throne and put it around his second’s shoulders. Together at an easy pace, they made their way out into the corridors. Those they passed—servants on errands for their masters, guards walking to relieve others for a shift change, officers chatting about arena bets—said nothing. But their glances took in every detail of Saffrin’s state, Lotor’s stoic expression beside him, and they knew. By the next day, the whole castle would be whispering about the latest soldier to pay the price for the Prince Imperial’s pursuit of the Princess of Arus.

Nothing but base animal lust, Allura and her insulating circle of guardians deemed it. A cheerless smile visited Lotor’s lips. Sometimes he wished his feelings were half so simple and fleeting.

Once behind the doors to his quarters, Saffrin flopped onto his bed with a relief-laden sigh. Lotor sat at his feet and made to remove his friend’s boots, but was waved away.

“As much as I’d enjoy all the subversive implications of having my commander and future king undress me, I can do it myself. Actually, I think I ought to savor the fact since the number of those who’ve been able to walk away at all after arousing the emperor’s suspicion is rather tiny.”

Lotor laced his fingers together, grip leeching the color from his knuckles. “My plan.” He paused, the words that had to follow sticking in his throat. “It’s not going to work.”

Saffrin shook his head slowly, grimacing like the motion hurt for more reasons than his injuries. “With the emperor poised to obliterate Arus any day now? No…no, I suppose it’s not.”

Had he been in his own room, Lotor would have seized the nearest breakable thing and hurled it into a wall, then repeated the performance until everything in sight resembled his hopes.

“Damn him.” But no curse in any tongue he knew could contain the force of his emotions. They spilled out to quake his muscles, spur his heart, and hiss from between his teeth with each breath.

“What would you have me do?” Shadows ringed Saffrin’s eyes, his wounds stood out purple and puckered against his light blue skin, yet from the solemn set of his jaw and shoulders he would follow whatever decision was made without complaint.

That, more than anything, brought Lotor back from the border of ruin. He folded the raw, scorching lumps of hatred and ire crackling in his guts into his will, bit by bit so he wouldn’t crack or warp it.

When his thoughts had cooled to a reasonable temperature, he answered, “I would have you rest and heal. It’s more than likely my father is counting on me making a desperate move, either toward civil war or on Arus.”

“What is your next move then, if not a desperate one?”

“First to call someone to see to your wounds. Second, to find out what Haggar truly wants with me. I can contemplate doing something foolish afterwards.”

Splaying himself out on the mattress again, Saffrin closed his eyes. “A sound plan. Do me a favor and ask for that new physician who transferred from Tyrus, would you? Raekia, I think her name is. She looks like she has a gentle touch.”

A few heavy layers of gloom peeled away from his mind. “I will ask.”

“Good. I believe my soul’s reached its quota toward enlightenment today.”

Lotor only hoped there was a little left for him before the day—or their lives—drew to a close.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haggar has a heart-to-heart with Lotor about his relationship status. We also find out what's really under that witchy brown robe of hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muchas gracias a I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, MadelineL, Lighting_Streak, spaceChai, Eristhx, Andelevion, MalevoLiss (MissLissa1), Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, y todos los que "reviewed", "bookmarked", or dieron los "kudos". That is, thanks to everyone who's taken a little time out of their day to drop by and read this long-winded fic of mine. Free horoscopes, courtesy of Haggar, for all of you! 
> 
> @ I_cloudy: And you're a lovely, lovely reviewer! I appreciate it!
> 
> @MadelineL: As you should be. AS YOU SHOULD BE. *insert sinister laughter*

Not for the first time and undoubtedly not the last, Haggar wondered why she tolerated even a tenth of what she endured on a daily basis. Well, she did know, of course, but there were times when it seemed better to tear down the tangled warp and weft of her reasons rather than maintain them. Watching Zarkon torture that handsome young officer for little gain other than amusement, for example. She could have stopped it—just as she could have stopped a great number of cruelties and injustices. Her powers were many, those who could stand against her few. The throne to the empire was within her grasp if she but reached out to seize it.

Experience had taught her the price of letting pride exceed purpose and trying to reverse the flow of fate, however. It was a toll she knew she couldn’t afford a second time.

Soldiers, nobles, and servants alike stepped aside and gave her submissive nods while she passed them with as much dignity as her shambling gait would allow. Coba trotted in front of her like a herald, his raised tail a banner, pausing occasionally to sniff something of interest on the buffed stone floor or wall.

Once safely behind the doors of her laboratory complex, Haggar released a sigh of undiluted relief, finally allowing her spine and shoulders to straighten into their natural alignments. She stretched, wincing as something in her lower back gave a pop.

“This charade will have me hunched over like a true hag someday,” she grumbled.

Coba sat and showed off his fangs in a huge, eloquent feline yawn.

“Yes, yes, you’ve heard this lament before, I know. Well, my love, let’s go to the study and I’ll hold my complaints for a bit. We’ve a rare bit of relaxation time to savor before Lotor comes stomping in, demanding answers.”

After arching his back and indulging in a luxurious stretch, her familiar led the way down the aisle through her various work tables laden with half-assembled machinery and materials. Her study was wedged between two storage spaces—had, in fact, been one before she’d had it converted. Haggar pressed the knob at the end of her gnarled staff to the center of the metallic door. A silvery glimmer rippled over the surface, highlighting an interlinked web of circuitry-like symbols for an instant. The door slid open without a sound, then swished closed behind her and Coba. She leaned her staff in the corner before reaching up to cast off both the cowl of her robe and the illusion enchanted into its coarse threads.

Her skin tingled and itched as the working dispersed. She raised a hand—still clawed, but the skin now an unblemished purple like the sky of Korrinoth when glimpsed during a rare moment of the storm clouds breaking a little—to rub her tingling face. No scars, no warts, none of the deformities that had made her the inspiration for countless jests existed beneath her fingertips. She shook out her hair, letting it spill in indigo waves over the shoulders of her drab robe.

At times, the temptation to throw the secret in the court’s faces almost overwhelmed her. How gratifying it would be to have Brilka, Ulhith, and the others grovel as they realized she wasn’t the feeble invalid she masqueraded as. To see shock, but more so desire rekindle in Zarkon’s eyes at the sight of the beauty she had regained with painstaking medical and magical work over the years.

And therein lay the wellspring of her resolve. He had but to crook his finger at her and she knew her will would crumble like a sand sculpture under the rush of the incoming tide. That she would forgive the crushing blow of his betrayal, his searing scorn when she’d been laid on the med-tech table, broken just as surely as she had done to the great mecha Voltron. The impossible task she had undertaken for him, always for him.

The hideous ruined visage she wore in public wasn’t meant to deceive. No, it was meant to remind her of the truth.

Coba rubbed himself against her calves, drawing her out of the vaults of her memory. She leaned down to scratch his long, pointed ears.

“Now, a little treat for the both of us, hm?” she said, her usual cackling rasp mellowed into a silky, feminine pitch.

Retrieving a small, sealed ration pack of avian meat and a disposable lancet from a drawer of the small desk against one wall, Haggar filled her familiar’s bowl with the former, then used the latter to prick her index finger. After squeezing a few drops of dark blood into the food and murmuring a few words that echoed peculiarly off the metallic walls, she set it down for the meowing Coba. He began gobbling the snack up at once, his purring like the rumble of a distant rockslide. For herself, Haggar poured a glass of sweet Tyrusian wine before falling into the plush chair pushed against the far corner. Letting her head loll back, she closed her eyes and savored her first sip. With each subsequent one, her body relaxed a bit more.

She didn’t realize she’d nodded off until the knocking woke her.

With a snort, Haggar lurched up from the chair, nearly spilling the last couple of swallows in her glass. Downing the remnants of the wine, she set the empty cup aside on the bookshelf Coba had perched on top of and scrambled to gather her hair, stuffing it back inside her robe. Her skin prickled when she jerked her hood over her head, the illusion oozing over her face in a clammy mask of energy.

By the time she stumbled to the door and opened it with her staff, Lotor had already turned to leave.

“Ah, there you are, my prince,” she said, voice cracked and dry as the parched bed of a dead sea once again.

He stopped, facing her with a thin-lipped look of vexation. “And there you are, old witch. I searched this place end to end trying to find you, and then I couldn’t remember which one of these damn doors was your little bolt hole. So next time you tell someone to come speak to you, you might try not disappearing.”

“Well, our game of Stab-In-The-Dark is over and you’ve won, haven’t you? Come inside, my prince, and we’ll have that chat.”

For a moment, he appeared ready to bend further out of joint, but then allowed his expression to relax into a dispassionate mask and nodded. His temper still tended to blaze up and burn away his wits when fed the slightest bit of tinder, but he had become slightly more adept at containing and redirecting its heat since she had nudged him toward _Jui Kuhalth_. In a few decades, he might even be deemed halfway sensible. Hiding her smile by dipping into a slight bow, Haggar stepped aside to let him step past.

He came in and stopped in the middle of the study, examining the array of framed scroll fragments, blades, books, and carvings either hanging on the walls or sitting in shelves. He’d always been a curious one, but rather than ask her for the origins of each piece as he might have when he was younger, Lotor simply said, “I know this doesn’t have a thing to do with any robeasts. So what do you really want to talk about?”

Haggar set her staff aside after securing the door behind them. “My, my. Not even enough patience for a pleasantry or two first, I see.”

His face tightened, the angles of his cheeks and jaw becoming sharper, more pronounced, as if anger had dried up the softer parts of his flesh. “Well, if you hadn’t noticed, witch, I’m under some pressure at the moment.” His tone mimicked his father’s so faithfully that she felt the old scars carved upon her heart twinge.

“Ah, yes. The imminent destruction of Arus and very likely its pink-clad princess with it.” The minute flinch that earned told her the barb had found its mark. “You may be happy to hear that our business concerns just that topic then. Unless, that is, your time is too precious to warrant listening to the prattlings of an old woman…”

Lotor froze. Realization soaked into his expression, filling out the austere lines. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it. She saw his throat work as he struggled to swallow the enormous, acrid draught of his own pride without choking to death, the poor dear. “I would welcome any advice you feel inclined to offer, Lady Haggar.”

Well, he could be taught—more than could be said of his father. Once she had given the adjustment to his attitude a nod of approval, she resumed her seat in the corner and motioned to the smaller chair across the way. Lotor settled his long frame into it, fingers betraying his tension with their too-tight grip on the arm rests. Haggar picked an imaginary bit of lint off of her knee while she made sure her words were arranged and accounted for.

“How does that Terran way of starting stories go? Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away…no, no, Tyberi curse it. Ah!

“Once upon a time—that’s it—there was a beautiful princess who ruled a magical kingdom. The sun shone there every day, nobody went hungry or ever argued, and all the people spent their days singing, dancing, and…” she twirled her hand in a lazy spiral, “…and whatever else it is that deliriously happy people do. I don’t know.

“Anyhow, one day a dark shadow fell over the peaceful kingdom. An evil prince brought an army to conquer the land. What’s worse, he wanted the kind, virtuous princess for his slave. But luckily, a champion stepped in to defend her. A knight, handsome, brave, noble to a fault. He defeated the wicked prince and saved the kingdom, winning the eternal love of the princess in the bargain, which is standard protocol in these types of situations. And they both lived happily ever after. The end.”

From the puckered twist of his mouth and the way the tendons in his hands stood out clearly even beneath his white gloves as he gripped the arm rests, her tale’s symbolism hadn’t been lost on Lotor. “That is the most depressing fucking story I’ve ever heard in my life, witch,” he snarled in human Trade, apparently requiring its unique pool of emphasizers to vent his emotions properly. “Is there a point in me suffering through this other than making me want to kill something?”

Pressing a hand over her breast and widening her eyes to dramatic dimensions, Haggar replied, still in court Drule, “Oh, you didn’t care for that ending, Your Highness? Allow me to try again then.” She cleared her throat. “Let us see now…we have the happy, sunny kingdom and its lovely princess, yes? So, the evil prince comes. But what’s this? He comes not to conquer but to warn the princess about his father, who is twice as malevolent. See, the king has a magic gem, magic sword, magic chamber pot—or insert whatever special item you’d prefer—and means to use it to reduce the peaceful kingdom to a wasteland.

“The princess, as you might expect, doesn’t believe the prince. And why would she? She’s heard about his awful deeds in other lands, so she ignores his pleas. Of course, she realizes her mistake when the king does show up shortly afterwards, but by then her kingdom is so much dust scattered on the wind. And nobody lives happily ever after, except for the evil king maybe. Most emphatically, the end.”

He sprang out of the chair, fists clenched, in half the time it took most creatures to blink. Haggar’s pulse jumped at the coinciding moment, though not from fear—Lotor might have been the Dark Prince of Doom to the rest of the galaxy, but she still remembered not so long ago when he’d been nothing more than a quiet child wiping his snotty nose on his sleeves. She stared up at him with an almost bored air that would have done her Coba proud.

“Sit down and stop trying to impress me with your looming. And if you even think of raising your hand to me, I’ll blast you, head over royal rear end, right out the door. Am I clear?”

They had reached a wide, deceptively calm lee in the expanse of destiny, she knew. Whichever way they steered in the next few minutes would not only catch them in one of its many currents, but sweep along countless other lives. There was a storm brewing on the horizon, that much she could tell. Whether they had the mettle and skill to weather it and come to some safe harbor, or would be smashed to ruin on the dangers and snares in between depended on if Lotor decided to let his fury stop up his ears and mind.

For a good long minute all he did was goggle down at her with round eyes that clashed with the clenched set of his jaw—like he couldn’t decide to be amazed at her audacity or murder her for it. In the end, he sank back down in his chair with a strange slowness, as though his limbs and joints were hydraulic. His expression was a collage of so many thoughts, emotions, and memories that even she couldn’t fully interpret it.

“Why are you doing this?” It came out quiet and weary.

“Because someone must,” Haggar replied, not unkindly. “And since I’m hardly loved anyway, it may as well be me. But don’t misunderstand, my prince. The point is not to discourage your pursuit of Allura—quite the opposite.”

“And what do you care whether she’s mine or not?”

Though Lotor had always reflected his father in the strong line of his jaw, the niveous spill of his hair, and knowing shape of his smirk, he resembled his mother so faithfully right then that a haunted chill quivered down Haggar’s spine. Vasya had undergone the same transformation in those rare moments to herself she had managed to steal: listless, slumped, like a doll of wax, all the arrogance, vitriol, and will that animated her fled. A shell not even Haggar had been able to continue hating once she’d seen the despair lurking behind the carefully crafted court façade. Despair she knew well since it had carved a hollow place for itself inside her that resonated like a funeral bell whenever she recognized another so marked.

“Oh, I care,” Haggar answered him, the past settling over her in a heavy, invisible mantle. “As an advisor to the crown as well as someone who has wanted things she never received.”

Lotor narrowed his eyes at her but kept his mouth closed, though she could see the questions breeding in his mind. She might even have been inclined to explain everything to him just then: why she had been charged to seek out Zarkon Galra, the lowly raider through which such high blood flowed; how she had helped him construct this bold, brutal empire they now inhabited; when she knew she was doomed to love a man who would never see her as anything beyond an instrument of his own will—every sordid, glorious word of it.

But instead he asked, “Then what in the name of Lymira’s fickle fornications am I supposed to do? I—we—have tried everything. I’ve given her ultimatums, which she not only wriggled out of but gave her even more reasons to hate me. I’ve offered her an alliance, which she responded to by putting a pistol to her head and saying she’d rather die. Kidnapping, hostage exchanges—none of it’s worked. And now—” He stuttered to a stop, realizing he teetered on the edge of confession.

“And what, in your estimate, was the fatal flaw in all these plans?”

His upper lip peeled back in a silent snarl. “Kogane and the rest of his Alliance lost causes! What else would it be, witch?”

Her claws clacked to an agitated rhythm on her chair’s arm rest. Always looking outward for enemies, never inward, these younglings. “Well, let us see. During your birthday celebration on Tyrus you had Allura for well over an hour all to yourself. The Voltron Force was at your mercy. Why didn’t  you take your pleasure with her then?”

“Because that’s not what I _want_ from her!” Lotor exploded, flinging his arms skyward. “Well, I _do_ want it, but it’s not the main goal! That’s what she, my father, you, and everyone else don’t seem to grasp! If all Allura is to me is a warm place to stick my cock, I would have finished the job the old man started, crushed Arus, and fucked her on top of the smoking rubble by now. I wouldn’t be humiliating myself and risking treason every week just to get her to say something to me!”

“And that,” Haggar said, spreading her hands as if releasing enlightenment on tiny wings, “is your mistake.”

He stared at her, mind blown somewhere half past the farthest reaches of the stars. Rather than wait for him to recover, she continued.

“Your relationship was tainted before the two of you even met. Emperor Zarkon killed Allura’s father in their famed duel in the Valley of Zohar, then executed the rest of her family—only a stroke of luck allowed Allura and that advisor of hers to escape before they felt His Majesty’s blade caress their necks too.

“As if that weren’t enough, he sent you, ignorant of this history at the time, to Arus in order to do what Yurak couldn’t with the limited resources available to him. And there you met Allura, last scion of the House of Altarus. You felt a tug, didn’t you? Like the invisible hand of a deity nudging you to take notice.”

Lotor mutely nodded. His voice hadn’t quite recovered from his sudden case of revelation yet.

“Every time you saw her after that, every time you got near, the feeling grew. What it was, you couldn’t say, but it made you hold back. Convinced you to decide not to bomb the pitiful few targets they still had left. Drove you to threaten her world and loved ones yet stayed your hand when it came time to carry it out. You love her, thus you don’t want to hurt or break her.”

He met her gaze with an almost defiant lift of his chin. “Yes.”

Shaking her head, Haggar clucked her tongue. “It’s also why you’ve never been able to win her.”

“But—”

She cut his protest off with a slashing motion of her finger. “Allura lives sheltered in that storybook world I spoke of. You are nothing but a villain to her who deserves to be defeated by Kogane the Knight. Oh, given several years and the chance to speak with her every day you might gain some grudging gratitude—maybe even a crumb of affection. But she would never love you.”

“So you’re telling me to give up because it was hopeless from the start.”

If only the boy’s brains were as big as his balls. Haggar snorted, turning away from his uncomprehending stare to retrieve the item that had waited for this day on one of her shelves for fourteen years. It glittered like the fang of a mythical beast in her hands as she held it out to him, hilt first.

“A _sahj_?” he said, ignorance lifting his eyebrows. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It was your mother’s. Or would have been, if she’d married your father.”

He snatched back his reaching hand as if the curved blade had cut him even through the platinum scabbard. “What? You’ve had her things all these years and never thought to tell me?”

“I have this thing, and I’m giving it to you at the time you need it most.”

“Why? Do you actually expect me to hand it to Allura and go ‘Here, have this memento of my murdered mother, hope you like it’?”

Patience. Carbon did not become diamonds in one night. Still, she was seriously considering whether blasting him would help speed up the process. “No, boy. I’m giving it as a reminder that you are the product of a monster as well as a hero. And here’s my advice to you, young prince: Be both, not just some half-committed mimic of one or the other.  Go to Arus and force Allura to either surrender to your father—” She ignored his hiss of contempt, “—or to you. Preferably the latter, in the form of a marriage engagement. The emperor will be amused enough at the thought of Alfor’s daughter wedding his son that he’ll spare her and her world.” Well, perhaps—there was a better than fifty percent chance anyway.

“Allura would never believe me and agree to my proposal at this point. You know that, old witch!”

“Which is why I said ‘force her’ rather than ‘politely inquire as to whether she’d be inclined to’, fool child.” She thrust the _sahj_ at him. “Drug her. Take Kogane and the others hostage for real—no convenient ways to slip out of their sloppy bonds this time. Or carry on the Galra family tradition by dragging her away kicking, screaming, and cursing your name. But make sure you bring her back to Korrinoth because your father spoke truly. There won’t be another chance.”

He eyed the sheathed dagger, back pressed into the chair like making physical contact with anything connected to his mother would bring plague or madness. “Forcing her to come here might mean she dies inside as surely as if my father did destroy her planet.”

“It’s a possibility. It’s also conceivable that you give the girl too little credit. She will, I can say for certain, be furious and shocked. She may even hate you for shattering her shining vision of the world to glittering dust. But she will be alive, and that’s a start.”

“And what do you gain from my marriage to Allura?” His mistrustful gaze slid up to scrutinize her face.

Haggar shook her head in a show of surprise and disapproval she in no way felt. “Assurance that my position within the empire will continue once you acquire the throne, my prince.” Something more genuine tweaked the corners of her lips up. “And perhaps I’m a secret romantic at heart.”

Lotor’s flat stare said how far his faith went in that. His attention dropped down to his mother’s sahj again. Although his expression cramped into a slight grimace, his pupils flickered minutely this way and that, as if following the swarm of thoughts flitting behind them. Sympathy plucked at the strings of her heart, playing a melancholy tune that made everything in her chest feel bound with cold iron bands, but she resisted the urge to reach out and offer comfort. No clean, easy choice lay before him, and if she couldn’t remain strong then neither could he.

At last, Lotor reached out a hesitant hand and curled his fingers around the symbol-scarred scabbard of the dagger. Haggar gave him a nod of encouragement. He lifted it from her palm and held it, but couldn’t quite bear to let it touch any other part of his body.

“I will think about what you’ve said, Haggar.”

She slouched back against her chair with a sigh, like a crushing weight had been lifted off of her. “That’s all I can ask, my prince. If you require anything of me, simply give the word.”

He remained silent, weighing the sincerity of the claim. Finding it neither too heavy nor too light, he nodded. “Thank—”

“No,” she said, and blocked off the rest of his words with an upraised hand. “Don’t. Succeeding will give you plenty of reasons to wish we never had this conversation, have no doubt. And you have much to do still before you get there.”

Sensing the conclusion in her tone, Lotor stood and allowed himself to be shown out, brow creased in troubled thought. Haggar drew hope from the sight.

Troubled or not, at least the stubborn boy was thinking.

“I’ve done what I can for the moment,” she told Coba after the prince had gone. “It’s up to him to take the leap. Those are the rules.”

Her familiar’s reply was to roll over onto his side, yellow eyes half-closed in pleasure, so she could stroke his belly.

Time. What a peculiar notion. As far as Haggar could tell, the present and future were merely the past with new sets and actors. Most were too engrossed in their roles to stop and wonder where the scene was going. Directing such a production required the patience of Death, wits that shifted and flowed like music, and the favor of more than one deity.

She had barely begun to comprehend what rewriting the script would take.

Coba cracked open one curious eye when her caressing hand left him to pull out one of the books on the shelf below. Larger than the rest of its kin, it took almost as much brawn to read as it did brain. The scaly scarlet leather of the cover crackled when she flipped it open, letting the pages fall of their own accord.

No one else in the castle—or on Korrinoth, for that matter—could have read the neat, sinuous bits of writing inked on the paper. The branching tiers of lines connecting them, however, hinted at their intent. As always, Haggar’s eyes were drawn to the single entry toward the bottom of the left page, and the only one that hadn’t been scratched out on the bottom of the right.

Lotor lal’Galra and Allura Altarus, spelled in the swirling, hypnotic script of a language whose origins were almost as obscure as the DNA they chronicled.

So close. Fate couldn’t be cruel enough to bring two products of centuries worth of careful cultivation together just to rip them apart again, surley.

Zarkon’s wasteful butchery of Allura’s two siblings had already proven otherwise, of course. The girl and her whole line would have been as dead as the language within the book if not for Haggar’s intervention. Lotor and his princess owed her more than they would ever know.

But they would repay her tenfold on the day she could finally draw a connecting line between their names…and then one or two descending from it.

Shutting the great tome, Haggar slid it into place on the shelf once more. The next time she touched it would either be the day she was immortalized for her life’s work or destroyed because of it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After stationing Blue Lion on Pollux, Allura discusses the situation with her cousins and Sven, then comes to a decision about her deal with Lotor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to tuonetar, FlightFright, Geeeny, MalevoLiss (MissLissa1), Andelevion, Erisethx, spaceChai, Lighting_Streak, MadelineL, ItCameFromTheDeep, I_cloudy, DifferentDances, and everyone who was kind enough to read, review, bookmark, or give kudos!
> 
> @ tuonetar: Funny you should mention that. Hagger would have made a hell of a Bene Gesserit, eh? And thank you so much for your praise of her POV. I just wanted her to be a little more than a cackling evil witch or a sad villainess who was dumped by Zarkon. Things will unfold...albeit slowly since I'm long-winded unfortunately, ha.

Two days after that sunny morning run (which she did win, but only just) Allura stood in Castle Control with the rest of her team mates, praying the tears in Nanny’s eyes wouldn’t fall. If they did, her own nerve would dissolve.

“That way we’ll always have three Lions on standby and two on patrol,” Coran was saying at the peripheral of her awareness. “With their warp capabilities it will be an easy enough matter to reach Arus or any of our other allies in case Zarkon does attack.”

“Exactly. Just like we went over,” Keith said, his tone mild. They had indeed gone over the careful schedules they’d worked out—three times that morning alone, in fact. But like Allura, Keith knew her advisor’s fussing had to do with anxiety rather than a lack of faith in their capabilities.

A shade or two paler than normal, Coran stepped forward to shake each of their hands—tantamount to a melodramatic scene for him. His brown eyes as he looked into Allura’s bore faint shadows beneath them, the corners tense and deeply lined from years of service. He gave her hand an extra squeeze, like he thought he could transfer his strength into her. Though she wanted to throw her arms around him in a hug, she didn’t want to embarrass him either; she settled for placing her other hand over their clasped ones briefly.

Nanny had no such qualms about making her feelings known. She embraced them one by one—nearly crushing poor Pidge against her bosom during his turn—and planted kisses on both their cheeks with a love no less fierce than her temper.

“God go with you,” she whispered in Allura’s ear.

“We’re not leaving for forever, Nanny. This is only a temporary measure, and we’ll be in contact every day. Try not to stress so much, really.”

She might as well have suggested flying a lead kite. The woman pulled back, dabbing her shimmering eyes with the corners of her white apron. “It doesn’t make this any less dangerous. Anything could happen between now and then.”

“Which is why we’re going to be on full alert until this is resolved,” said Keith. His eyes were two black pools of serenity.

Nanny pulled herself together, loosely, but at least she didn’t look ready to fall to pieces either. Allura didn’t know how the commander maintained such a balanced temperament, how he always knew exactly what to say to restore somebody’s calm and confidence. Although she bore the royal title, he wielded the true power to lead.

“Well, we’d better hit the trail before this turns into a soap opera sobfest,” Lance cut in, slipping his blue flight helmet over his head. Not before Allura caught the wistful cast to his expression, though. She wouldn’t be the only one leaving the place she called home.

At a nod from Keith, she, Hunk, and Pidge pulled their own helmets on. The five of them turned as a single entity and ran for their individual boarding chutes. Her stomach flipped for reasons other than the rush of leaping to catch the crossbar and spiraling down to the waiting shuttle below. This was it. She’d put more than a little trust in Lotor, and the Lions, Arus’ only major line of defense, were going to separate because of it.

She just hoped it wouldn’t prove as wrong as it felt.

Mind melded with Blue’s body, Allura launched out of Asala Lake, catching up to Keith in seconds. Pidge, Hunk, and Lance joined them soon after. Together, they made the climb through the layers of Arus’ atmosphere, but it seemed their minds were in separate worlds, the trip quiet as a funeral service.

Lance found the nerve to break the silence around the time they made it into orbit and paused, hovering over Arus.

“Oh, come on! We’re the Voltron Force, for crissakes! How are we gonna put a giant, mechanical lion-headed boot up Zarkon’s ass if we’re all moping and weepy?”

“You know, me and the princess already don’t get any respect for being the feet,” Hunk said, the hint of laughter in his voice glinting in Yellow Lion’s eyes. “But that’s just downright inconsiderate.”

Pidge snickered. “That’s one close up of the old pirate I wouldn’t want either.”

“How about we give him a Blazing Sword enema then?”

Black Lion shook his head. “How about you stop talking about Zarkon’s hinterlands before I hurl.”

“Yeah, the only thing you can do with him and Prince Pointy Ears is bury ‘em like the turds they are,” Hunk declared.

Allura shook her own head, human mouth a mixture of grin and grimace. If only they knew. None of them would’ve been alive to joke at Lotor’s expense without the Prince Imperial’s cooperation. Then again, they probably wouldn’t have been any more generous in their commentary even if they were aware.

“But seriously, guys,” Lance said, tone leveling. “Watch your sixes out there.” He took a shaky breath, Red Lion staring at each of them in turn. “I’d lose my shit if something happened to any of you.”

She didn’t think the Lions were capable of shedding tears, but her human body felt on the verge of releasing enough for both. Her claws curled. “Stay safe too, Lance—everybody. We might be spreading out, but we’ll be together in spirit. As long as we’re united in that, we can stand up to anything.”

The bond between them thrummed, patching the cracks in Allura’s self-assurance. Just like the elements that powered their Lions—wind, water, earth, fire, and lightning—they were bound in the great tapestry of the cosmos. They would endure and overcome.

Black Lion gave her a nod that warmed her down to the marrow. He turned to glance over his shoulder at the expanse of stars behind. “Lance and I better get going on our patrol. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, so to speak.”

“Just one more thing.” Red Lion lifted a paw and set it with great ceremony on Yellow’s shoulder. “I know I give you a lot of crap, Hunk. But in case I never get another chance…I just want you to know…I-I’ve always loved you. Those rippling muscles, that strong, silent presence of yours…”

With a growl, Hunk shook Lance off. “Go to hell, McClain. You wish you could get a piece of this.”

Their laughter lessened the strain of their parting as Allura turned and bounded off with Pidge and Hunk, while the commander and lieutenant departed in the opposite direction. It felt more like ripping off a bandage rather than the amputation of limbs she’d been expecting.

When the three of them warped, images of the first sunrise she’d seen in years after being forced down into the caves, discovering the keys to the Lions with the guys, and the last summer picnic she’d shared with her family at the Altean seashore accompanied her through the void.

She emerged, alone, not far from Pollux. Like her cousin Romelle’s face, the similarities always struck her. Five continents, just like Arus, though naturally not the same shapes. Heavy swirling clouds like froth on the surface of hot chocolate covered a good portion of the planet facing her. It made a shifting, surreal backdrop for the escort of three Polluxian harpy assault craft waiting for her in orbit.

“Greetings and welcome, Your Highness,” hailed a polite, urbane voice from the lead ship. A moment later, Allura received visual to go with it. Blue Lion translated the transmission directly into her mind’s eye so clearly that she might as well have been standing face-to-face with the commanding officer in the bridge—a general, if she interpreted the gold epaulettes on his blue toga-like tunic and bull’s head clasp on his half cape correctly. She flipped through her memory’s archives for a name to go with the scarred face. It didn’t take long; his polished voice had made a memorable contrast with the fact he looked solid and square enough to be a castle’s cornerstone.

“General Ionus,” said Allura as it came to her. She smiled and gave a slight nod with Blue Lion’s head.

A smile of his own peeked out from the dense black curls of his beard (which she believed would have become fast friends with Coran’s moustache). “I’m honored you remember me.”

“It’s the least I could do in return for your support of Arus when our planets first negotiated our alliance.”

Ionus shrugged his cinderblock shoulders. “Those dust-wheezing dunderheads on the council were still blathering about going to war with you and your people after Voltron saved us from being entirely overrun by the Drules. Someone had to tell them where they could shove their idea sideways without any grease. Begging your pardon, Highness.”

Her Lion could only translate her grin as a purring growl. “I look forward to working with you, General.”

He bowed. It was a bit like watching a brick building bend over. “Likewise. Well, I suppose we had best get you on solid ground. There’s a storm brewing over the palace at the moment, and the king and princess are waiting for us.”

About twenty minutes and a rousing round of small talk later, she found herself disengaging and stepping out of Blue Lion into a chilly drizzle falling from the slate-gray Polluxian sky. An honor guard of troops in full ceremonial armor awaited her on the landing pad in front of the royal palace. If they were concerned or annoyed at the possibility of rusting in place, the faces beneath their blue-crested helms gave no sign. Three familiar figures waited for her at the other end. Tucking her pink helmet under her arm, Allura walked through the gauntlet at a dignified pace while they saluted her by thumping one fist over their hearts. She could have done without the pomp, but times like these were when people needed it most, she knew. With tremors running through the present from the future charging straight at them, they all needed something to brace their nerves with. Ritual and formality were Pollux’s ways of reinforcing its bond with Arus before change made impact.

Bandor was the first to greet her at the end of her ceremonial stroll. He held his umbrella out a little to invite her into its shelter.

“Sorry about the weather,” the young king said. “Even though our planets are supposed to be sisters, you wouldn’t know it from their opposing climates.”

Smiling, Allura gave him a one-armed embrace and kiss on the freckle-spattered cheek, having to go up on tiptoe to do so. He’d sprouted a few more inches since she’d last seen him, and his shoulders had broadened under their new burden of ruling. The more years he accumulated, the more he resembled his late brother Avok.

“Think nothing of it,” she replied. “That’s the up and downside of interplanetary travel. You can sunbathe on one world, then make snowmen on another the same day.”

“You’d have to go farther south for that second, but rain, as you can see, we have plenty of.” Romelle came forward for a full hug, looking rather casual in dark kneeboots, ash-gray suede trousers, and an emerald-green coat. Nothing except stray droplets adorned her coppery waves of hair. “How was your trip?”

“Uneventful. Warp travel doesn’t allow for a scenic route.” Unless the shadowy, untamed wilderness of one’s unconscious counted.

“Flying Blue Lion was always an amazing experience, but the long-distance rides definitely left something to be desired.” Sven Holgersson came forward to take her hand and bow over it at the waist, careful not to hit anyone with the large, umbrella he held—black, of course, to match his clothes, hair, and humor. When he rose, though, the slightest hint of warmth had crinkled the corners of his coal-chip eyes. Keith was downright boisterous compared to the former Blue Lion pilot.

Allura invaded his bubble of introverted personal space with a hug. “It’s good to see you again, Sven.”

He tensed at the contact, but by degrees eased, reaching up to give her arm a gentle squeeze.

“How are you?” Allura asked, releasing him.

Sven shrugged—probably the most expressive gesture in his whole repertoire. The chiseled planes of his face, of course, betrayed nothing. “Watching. Waiting for the hammer to drop.”

Bandor nodded toward the palace. “Let’s wait for it inside. Because this storm definitely isn’t going to stop any time soon.”

Allura took her kingly cousin’s arm, Romelle took Sven’s and together they sloshed their way to the entrance. The palace struck her as more of a fortress, built of a gleaming, blue-gray stone. Water streamed down its octagonal towers and steep, sloped sides. The only thing welcoming about it was the golden light that glowed in many of its narrow, rectangular windows, adding a touch of color to the otherwise dreary sight. Its design spoke of the planet’s martial history, and the harsh, hardy population that called home. So unlike the Castle of Lions’ emphasis on stately beauty and welcoming tranquility.

No history book could illustrate the breech that had erupted between the brothers who had founded the two worlds better than a glimpse at their cultures could.

“Your things arrived yesterday and have already been put away in a suite for you,” Bandor told her in the entrance hall as he folded up their umbrella and shook water from it. “I figure you might want to change out of your flight gear, and if you’re hungry join us for some lunch.”

“It’s around dinnertime back home, so food sounds perfect right now.”

Romelle detached herself from Sven’s arm. “I’ll take you to your room and then we’ll both come back together.”

This plan met with approval all around. It took ten minutes, including an elevator ride, and several winding passageways for them to reach the quarters Allura would be calling home for weeks, possibly months. It matched her suite in the Castle of Lions for size, but there the similarities ended. The narrow windows and blue-gray stone of the walls and ceiling made her feel like she’d descended into a subterranean cavern. Little touches had been added to help alleviate the oppressive feeling of all that cold stone pressing down: colorful rugs, floral tapestries, overstuffed sofas gathered around a large fireplace, polished oak furniture. But there was nowhere to sit and watch the sunset, or feel the morning breeze on her face. The channel flowing in front of the palace was more of a fortification, not scenery. Homesickness began to circle the little raft of hope keeping her afloat.

“I never much cared to be cooped up in this place either. It feels like being tapped in a giant sarcophagus sometimes.”

Guilt nipped Allura, causing her to jump. She flushed, looking around the suite again and avoiding Romelle’s gaze. “It’s…secure. And anyway, I’ll mostly just be here to shower, eat, and sleep between my patrols. I can’t thank you and Bandor enough for making arrangements on such short notice.”

“Of course. I just wish the circumstances were happier. It seems like whenever something goes wrong, the Drule are at the root of the problem.” She didn’t add that the universe would be better off rid of them, but the implication hung between them like a huge, neon-colored banner.

“They don’t believe much in idle time, do they?” Allura replied in her best political voice.

Perhaps realizing a guest’s bedroom right before lunch wasn’t the most strategic place to launch a debate on the pros and cons of genocide, her cousin sighed. “Your bedroom and wardrobe are over here.”

Seeing her own pink bedspread did much to ward off the ravages of homesickness, and a glimpse at the enormous marble tub in the adjacent bathroom helped endear the cavernous suite to her. A vacation. That’s all she had to think of it as. A little time away before things returned to their rightful patterns. Nothing so dreadful as exile. Chest depressurized, she took a deep breath and began sorting through the gowns hanging in the ornate wardrobe dominating one wall of the bedroom.

“Nanny’s still dictating hem and necklines, I see.”

Turning, Allura noted Romelle’s wry smile and hunched her shoulders in a defensive posture. “They’re not that bad, are they? And I’ve been meaning to have a talk with her.”

Her cousin reached out and ran the blush-pink skirt of a dress through her fingers. “No, they’re not really. I’m surprised she didn’t insist on coming with you, though.”

“She did at first, but I convinced her she’d be needed more on Arus to help organize people in the underground shelters. Besides, I’m going to be running long, regular patrols in Blue Lion, which doesn’t leave me much time to turn to a life of unrepentant sin.”

A gleam danced in Romelle’s dark blue eyes. “Sven and I manage well enough despite our busy schedules.”

The breezy acknowledgement of the relationship widened Allura’s eyes. She glanced around as if expecting rumormongers to start swarming out of the crannies of the room like insects to honey. “How long have you and he been, er, together?”

“We’ve known each other for about eight months by Polluxian reckoning, but we’ve only been officially a couple for a little over three. Though it feels like I’ve been with him forever. Time seems to obey a different set of rules in the Pit.”

There it was. An opportunity to bring up the subject of her captivity on Doom, just fallen into her lap. Yet Allura hesitated, stumbling over her conscience. The last thing she wanted was to begin her stay by forcing Romelle to relive the most soul-smirching event of her life. And some part of her, hiding behind that reasoning trembled at the idea.

If Lotor could have told the truth once maybe—just maybe—he could do so twice.

“At least something good came of it,” Allura followed up rather lamely before taking refuge in changing out of her pilot uniform.

She selected a simple yellow gown in defiance of the gray day, loosened her hair from its restraining bun, and grabbed the leather binder that contained her holotab and important papers. Romelle guided her back the way they’d come and into the other side of the palace, pointing out modifications and restorations made since the Drules had last paid a visit. Eventually they came to a smaller, more intimate dining room used for gatherings with family and friends. It boasted what was probably the only view available in the whole place: an inner courtyard full of lush vegetation and flowers that welcomed the rain more than the humans around them. Her cousin informed her that the wide bay windows were proof against small arms and moderate artillery.

While she took a seat at Bandor’s right side, Allura wondered what it would take for her to value things for their resistance to weaponry more than their artistry or beauty. She shoved the thought aside before her imagination could draft possible answers.

“How is the rest of the Force doing?” asked Sven, cutting up what looked to be a grilled fish fillet on his plate. A stunted smile that had always struck Allura as mocking touched his mouth, but she’d come to realize all his smiles just looked that way. “Lance must have hit on every woman on Arus by now. Twice at least.”

“Actually, I think Nanny sent out a PSA warning about him within the first month. ‘Bar your doors and your hearts against foreign pilots’.”

“Except hearts aren’t the part of the anatomy he’s after.” Romelle laughed and dipped her spoon into her soup.

Selecting some salad, Allura shook her head. “I really don’t think Lance is as bad as his reputation.”

“No—it doesn’t do him justice.” The corners of Sven’s eyes crinkled, his smile straining against its usual boundaries. “Back in the academy he once had two girls show up at his dorm to give him a piece of their minds at the same time. So they combined forces and wound up kicking down his door. The whole building could hear them cursing him out.”

She tried to match the image with that of the jocular yet steadfast man who’d helped protect a planet not his own at the risk of his life for over a year. It was like comparing a mosquito to a hawk—both had superficial similarities, but not much else in common.

“Well, his present isn’t his past,” Allura stated simply.

Out of the corner of her vision, she caught Romelle rolling her eyes.

“How about Pidge and Hunk? Still joined bionically at the hip?” inquired Sven.

“They’ve been working wonders. Hunk has a pet project going where he tracks down bits and pieces of plans or pictures of our old structures and tech that we were afraid might be lost forever. And Pidge has been improving our systems and sensors in the castle. He’s the only reason we and the rest of the countryside got lighting, heat, and communications services back up as fast as we did. Both of them really are technical wizards.”

“And Captain Kogane?” This came from Bandor. The young king’s admiration for the Force’s leader had grown exponentially every time they’d met, and not just because Keith’s actions had saved both him and his sister multiple times. Allura suspected Bandor had rediscovered a bit of the older brother he’d lost in the captain.

“I doubt Keith is capable of doing less than well,” she replied with a chuckle.

Sven shook his head and speared another bit of fish with his fork. “I’ve known the man for over ten years and I’ve yet to see him slip up. He really does take life too seriously sometimes.”

Coming from someone who always wore black and acted like any sudden expression would shatter his face that was saying something.

“I don’t know what Arus would have done without him, though,” added Allura. “Well, actually, I do—we would have been destroyed or enslaved by now. He’s kept things together much more than I have.”

“Sounds like the makings of a king.” Bandor cast her a glittering stare over the rim of his glass.

Hot blood rallied to Allura’s cheeks and she nearly choked on a crouton. Recovering, she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “It—it’s not like that. Between me and him, I mean.”

The feel of Keith’s hand clasped with hers, streamers of sunlight hanging from the forest canopy, came back to her in a warm rush of sensory memory. She was convinced her face resembled a giant red tomato wearing a blonde wig at that point.

“Ah, but you’re on friendly terms, aren’t you?” said Bandor, only encouraged by her embarrassment. He brandished his spoon like he would vanquish any denials with it. “Kogane is brave, noble, and ready to defend Arus to the death on top of it. Marrying him would also ensure the claim to Voltron stays on your world. We royals couldn’t realistically expect any more from a partnership.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Romelle sighed, coming to the rescue. “I’m sure arranging a marriage with her commanding officer is the last thing on Allura’s mind right now. Besides, Nanny would bring down a hell storm at the thought of common blood polluting Altarus’ line.” Her face split with a sudden grin. “Although, Keith is quite a catch. Isn’t he, Sven?”

“We space explorers are like the stars: bright, intense, and above other men,” the black-clad pilot stated it without a trace of irony.

“You’re all cruel and horrible,” Allura told her cousins as they had a laugh at her expense. But a smile had crept onto her cooling face.

And, she had to admit, they did have a point…

“Speaking of cruel and horrible, we have some fresh dirt about the Drules thanks to our spies on Doom,” Sven said, pushing his empty plate away.

The salad in Allura’s stomach felt like someone was tossing it with tongs all over again. “What did they find out?”

“Just the root of the reason the Drules haven’t been active lately in our neck of the galactic woods,” Romelle answered. She couldn’t be sure, but Allura thought her cousin’s hand had crept over onto Sven’s thigh. “A detail we might be able to exploit to our advantage.”

“Such as…?”

“Zarkon’s grounded Lotor.”

A bolt of alarm flashed through Allura. “What? When?”

“Well, that bit of the report’s old news by now. Zarkon forbade Lotor from leading any more attacks on Arus over a month ago, hence the lull. The lizard-faced tyrant is determined to take care of business himself—that cargo of planet-killing arms was his idea. But the silver lining in all this is that it’s creating murderous tension between father and son. Our spies told us that just a couple of days ago Zarkon tortured Lotor’s second in command. Why we’re not entirely sure, but my guess is that Lotor, true to form, is bucking orders. A civil war on Doom would be a godsend for us, as you can imagine. While the blues are at each other’s throats our forces can swoop in and clean house. Or better yet, one might kill the other, if we can just throw more fuel on the fire.”

Allura mutely nodded along, too stunned to reply. The revelation that had gathered on the horizon of her understanding while her cousin filled her in finally swept down and broke with full force over her thoughts.

She knew exactly why Zarkon had tortured his son’s second. The Emperor of Doom suspected the truth: that Lotor had not only disobeyed but betrayed him.

And he had done so, risking life and limb, for her.

The cold knots of dread she usually felt in her middle whenever the subject of the prince imperial reared its menacing head slackened, their chill thawing. Not because Allura was the type of woman who was moved by grand gestures in her name, but because this was the first sure sign she’d ever encountered that some pearl of goodness resided in the dark shell of his soul. True, Lotor’s motivation didn’t lack selfish impetus—she had no delusions that he cared for Arus itself. But if there was room in his heart for her, other things might find a way to slip in as well. Things like compassion, justice, or at the least a treaty between their peoples.

For the first time since this whole nightmare had begun, she had proof that her hopes could solidify into realities.

“Um, Allura? Allura…?”

She exited her reverie with a little jump, blinking at Bandor, who had leaned toward her as if to put a hand to her brow and check her temperature. “Oh, I’m sorry! My thoughts wandered off. What were you saying?”

“I was just wondering if you had a copy of your patrol route and schedule so we’d know when to expect you, and just in case something goes awry.”

“Yes, right here. Just a minute.” Fumbling with her leather binder, she flipped it open and started to rifle through the papers therein, scattering them on the table. While messy and less efficient than computerized records, old-fashioned pages did have one advantage: they couldn’t be hacked into.

Finding the sheet she sought, Allura handed it to her younger cousin. “It has the guys’ rounds too. Hunk will be running patrol with me.”

“Perfect. Our fleets can provide back up in case you need it. Romelle and Sven’s agents will work on driving the wedge between Lotor and his dear old dad in further. Do we have any specific plans toward that end?”

Distraction seemed to be going around. Romelle’s gaze had fastened onto the litter of papers and it took a nudge and repeat of the question from Sven before it let go.

“No…” she replied slowly, eyes locking with Allura’s for an instant. She shook her head, voice strengthening. “No, not yet. But I have a few ideas that may be viable.”

It wasn’t until she started to scoop up the mess of notes that Allura discovered the cause of her cousin’s puzzling pause.

A single page covered with the sinuous letters of the Imperial Drule alphabet, all penned in Lotor’s bold, precise hand. In her haste, she had half exposed it.

With controlled casualness, she gathered it with the rest, tucked them neatly into her binder again, and forced the matter to the recesses of her mind for the remainder of lunch. Later, once she returned to her suite, Allura took the folder with her into the bathroom. Pulling the evidence of her language lessons out, she tore it to bits and flushed them down the toilet for good measure.

Against all odds and the weight of her doubts, the prince imperial had been true to his word and protected her and her people at great risk. She could do no less than have the decency to return the favor.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff gets real in this chapter. Sven and Romelle catch on to Allura's secret...but not fast enough to stop either her or Lotor from making choices that can't be taken back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiny thank yous go out to tuonetar, FlightFright, Geeeny, MaveloLiss (MissLissa1), Andelevion, Eristhx, spaceChai, Lightning_Streak, MadelineL, ItCameFromTheDeep, I_cloudy, DifferentDances, TiffanyBlue, CrimsonClover, and all the guests who've left kudos, comments, or otherwise just plain read this meandering thing I've created. 
> 
> @CrimsonClover: WOW. @__@ Thank you for leaving such detailed reviews on every chapter! It gave me a big charge to read your opinions and see you're enjoying the story/characters so far. As for your question about Allura asking Romelle about Lotor's claim, things will be confirmed during this chapter and the following ones. Additionally, I've been planning on posting Romelle and Sven's story all on its own in the near future. Because I think that would be much more interesting than Romelle just explaining it in this story. Showing vs. telling and all that. 
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> I do also want to do some short stories involving the Voltron guys' earlier history, like how they met and whatnot. But sometimes I'm so slow to work on this huge story (all these past chapters were written years ago, hence my current weekly pace) that I fear having side projects would just make it worse. Then again, it might have the opposite effect and spur my pace. Guess I won't know until I try, eh?
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> @TiffanyBlue: Your extra kudos are there in spirit, hahaha! Thank you for continuing to read--and thanks for following over on FF.net too!

He followed her from the shadows. Only the dingy netherworld light of pre-dawn filtered through the palace’s narrow windows, providing him plenty of shelter. His soft-soled shoes didn’t betray him with a sound as he glided from doorway to doorway, zigzagging up the corridor until he was so close behind he could have reached out and caressed her hair. Even in the sepulture-like light it shone. Careless of her—she should have covered it.

The thrill of the kill ignited in his blood, he reached up to grab a hold of her shoulder.

She stopped, nearly making him collide with her back, and sighed. “Oh, please. I knew you were there ten minutes ago.”

A grin less than five souls in the universe had ever seen violated Sven’s usual code of stoicism. Stepping up beside Romelle, he slipped his reaching hand around her trim waist instead. “Just lulling me into a state of overconfidence, that’s it, is it?”

“Of course,” she sniffed, with a regal toss of her hair. “Appearing helpless or inept to deceive an enemy was the first lesson those _Inalkai Kuhalth_ psychopaths taught me.”

His grin receded, but his hunter’s instincts merely changed targets. “Did they also teach you to look irresistible in those snug pants of yours?”

Her sea-blue eyes glanced up at him through their thatch of thick lashes, and she tried in vain to wrestle a smile into submission. “ 'Close enough to kiss, close enough to kill’,” she quoted.

The low, almost husky quality that had crept into her voice, her parted lips, and the way she pressed the side of her hip against his were all the bait Sven needed. He leaned down and went in for that first part of the Drule proverb. Their kiss started out soft. He didn’t see a need to rush—one wouldn’t fast forward through a stirring symphony or wolf down a delicious feast, so why sprint through a lover’s embrace? He took the time to cherish the feel of her quickening heartbeat against his chest. Savor the sensation of her lush mouth on his and how her hands slipped into his back pockets, pressing him closer, letting him know he was wanted just as much. Reflect on how far they’d both come in picking up the pieces and arranging them into a new life together. He buried his fingers in her hair, its waves forming a bright cloud around their faces. Like fire to his black smoke. Where she was, he would be sure to follow, now and always.

The need for air finally broke their kiss though not their hold on each other. Satisfaction spread through him at the sight of her flushed face, glazed, unfocused stare, and the knowledge that only he had such an effect on her.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered, shifting his hips slightly against hers.

A small noise came from her throat at the sensation, her fingers digging harder into his backside. She started to nod enthusiastically, then stopped and changed it to an equally vigorous shake of the head. “I have to check on something first—you almost made me forget.”

“Can’t it wait?” He traced the edge of her collarbone with one fingertip but didn’t hold out much hope; once Romelle sank her teeth into something, she locked her jaws and didn’t let go.

Sure enough, she bit her full bottom lip and shook her head again. “I might not get another chance at this.”

That cleared Sven’s head more. He quirked his eyebrows at her. “What exactly are you checking on? Something tells me it isn’t a pie you popped into the oven—not this early in the morning. And not to mention that you tried to sneak out without waking me to do it.”

The mood withered completely, her expression crunching into a scowl. Extracting herself from his arms, she leaned her back against the wall and glared down at the floor for a minute. Just when he thought he’d have to coax the information from her she spoke.

“I saw something in Allura’s binder yesterday at lunch. A paper.”

“So? She had plenty of papers.”

“Yes, only those didn’t have Lotor’s handwriting all over them.”

Sven’s breath left him as though he’d been sucker punched in the gut. His initial instinct was to blurt that was impossible. Allura despised and feared Lotor in equal amounts. The Drule prince had stalked her, injured and nearly killed the rest of the Voltron Force on multiple occasions, and threatened her planet on a regular basis. The only paper she’d accept from him was an unconditional surrender or a letter begging for forgiveness—both of which were as likely to happen as Coran shaving off that walrus moustache of his.

“You’re sure it was his writing?” he pressed. “It wasn’t a print out of some document our spies got a hold of maybe?”

Romelle shot him a look that told him just how far he was reaching. “Not unless we got a hold of his grade school work. The paper had the symbols for the Imperial Drule alphabet written on it. In ink. He wrote them out himself, Sven.”

Again, his mind tried to evade the implications of the discovery, chalk it up to a simple mistake. But he knew better. Romelle hadn’t had much time to learn the skills for espionage and assassination. However, she’d learned them in the most brutal and fast-paced school of all: life on Doom. A single mistake could have cost her—or her comrades—their lives. Instead of breaking under the pressure, she’d let her training burn away the old, soft, hesitant parts of her personality and an adamant, pragmatic one had risen from the ashes. Her awareness and memory had been honed to scalpel-sharpness.

In short, if she said she’d seen something, she’d seen it. He suppressed the urge to start gnawing on his nails; he’d just broken the lifelong habit last week.

“So you decided to go find it while Allura was out on her patrol,” he concluded, without judgement. “What do you plan to do when you get your hands on the paper?”

Anyone else would have seen nothing besides the merciless lines of resolve etched into her face. But the tiny fissures of dread and self-loathing stood out under Sven’s gaze, telling him how brittle it truly was. Romelle’s spirit may have been cast from steel, but even the hardest materials would bend and break under the right amount of stress.

“I’m going to do whatever I have to,” she answered, voice unwavering. “I’ll confront her with it and give her a chance to explain first. If she tries to dodge the issue, then I’ll inform Coran and Captain Kogane. I’m positive they wouldn’t be letting her carry on correspondence…or whatever she has going on…with Lotor if they knew.”

Sven nodded, his mouth tightening as he followed the signposts to the obvious. Arus had received crucial intelligence from a mysterious source, and now Allura was walking around with some language key in Lotor’s handwriting. The connection was too timely to be a coincidence. Allura, meaning well as she always did, must have accepted help from the Prince Imperial. At what price, though—that was the question. Lotor never did anything without gain, whether in the long or short term. The “assistance” he’d given both him and Romelle when they were Zarkon’s prisoners certainly hadn’t come cheap: Sven’s promise to never rejoin the Voltron Force, along with her throne and dignity. Some days, the scraps of information and limited access he provided for their band of saboteurs on Doom hardly seemed worth it.

“All right. Let’s get this done then. I’m behind you, always.” He managed a miniscule smile. “And not just for the view.”

She didn’t return his smile, but she accepted his hand in hers with a brief squeeze as they made their way to Allura’s quarters. It was hardly like sneaking through the twisting halls of Galra Castle, avoiding or assassinating Zarkon’s guards on the way to steal some data strip. They merely walked into the room without meeting another soul. The leather portfolio hadn’t even been hidden. It sat on the nightstand next to the bed Allura had neatly made before leaving. If it had had a face, the item would’ve watched them approach with an open air of innocence.

A minute’s rifling through the papers therein, though, revealed another kind of complication entirely.

“It’s gone,” Romelle announced, tone weary from the burden of confirmed suspicions. “She must have known I’d spotted it and disposed of it. Which means she’s protecting him. The naïve little fool.”

Again, Sven saw the true sentiments seething beneath the harsh, barren surface of her reaction. Her anger just grazed Allura, not able to reach its true target light years away.

“I don’t know if I’d use ‘protecting’ to describe what she’s doing,” he told her. “More like using him.”

A very unregal snort came from Romelle. “Allura doesn’t do manipulation—at least not skillfully. Excuses from toddlers trying to avoid a time out are slicker than anything she ever comes up with. Even if she did think she could pry something out of Lotor in the bargain, he’s the one casting the line and reeling her in. I don’t think she had gain on her mind. I bet the wide-eyed idiot is doing this because she believes he’s genuinely trying to help her.”

“I’m not sure even Allura is that trusting.”

“Yes, she is—you heard how she leapt to defend Lance yesterday.”

Sven folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. “Lance tells tall tales and chases skirts. Lotor kills and enslaves entire populations. I think one deserves a little more leniency than the other.”

She flung her hands in the air with a disgusted sigh at his logic, starting to pace back and forth like a caged animal. “I know how she thinks, Sven. Not because we’re related, but because I used to be just like her. I believed Lotor would help me and look what happened. Avok and my father wound up dead, Pollux nearly became another notch on Zarkon’s belt, and I lost my throne and the respect of my people. He made you slink around those vermin-infested tunnels beneath the Pit, and I endured daily physical and psychological torture disguised as combat training at the hands of the Drule death goddess’ fanatics. The only reason he ‘rescued’ us was because he figured we’d make useful pawns in the games between him and his father. Just imagine what he’d do to Allura.”

It wouldn’t involve learning a martial art or crawling through the tunnels, but he had to admit Lotor’s plans if he ever captured the Princess of Arus wouldn’t be much more benevolent.

“Okay,” he sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt to take some precautions. Let me talk to Coran and Keith about what you saw. It wouldn’t do a bit of good to confront Allura without evidence if she’s covering for Lotor anyway. At least Keith and Coran can keep an eye on her in case she really is in over her head.” Raking his fingers back through his hair, Sven tried to keep from tallying all the ways in which the elements of the situation added up to disaster. For them, for Allura, for her world and its allies—for the entire galaxy, for that matter.

“Don’t take this wrong, honey,” he added, putting his thumbnail into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, “but I hope you’re just losing your touch and made a mistake this time.”

Replacing Allura’s papers in exact order, Romelle closed the leather binder and turned it to the right a hair. It looked like it had never been touched.

“So do I, love,” she replied. “All the time.”

-

“You’re insane. Your whole plan is insane. I’m insane for agreeing to go along with it.”

Lotor aimed a glare through the view shield of his battle cruiser at Saffrin, his second's tense position in the pilot’s seat of the fighter next to him clearly visible. “You’re driving me to insanity with your whining,” the Prince Imperial snapped.

“Considering this will likely be my last day as a living man, I think I have the right to a little panic.”

Though he’d never understand how the bizarre practice came about, Lotor had to admit the human habit of rolling one’s eyes somehow expressed exasperation like no other. “We’re not even here to fight! All you and the rest of the squadron have to do is distract whatever members of the Moran Force show up until I warp back to Korrinoth with Allura. Give them just enough of a fight to make things convincing, but don’t take any risks. We’ll be back home in time for lunch. You’ll see.”

“Lunch, yes,” Saffrin muttered, expression darkening further. “Not to mention our executions at the emperor’s hands for disobeying his direct orders regarding attacks on Arus…”

Rather than waste time trying to reason with him, Lotor growled, “Just get your asses down there, hide, and wait for my command.”

“As you wish then, Highness. I have but one final request: at my funeral, let it be said I was the very embodiment of friendship. Yes, the living avatar of Belnoc himself…”

Though the Prince Imperial couldn’t tell for certain, he suspected the hint of smirk he caught on Saffrin’s face was more than his imagination or a trick of the planet-light reflecting off the fighter’s view shield. Lotor’s grip on his battle cruiser’s controls tightened, but not entirely from aggravation. For all his martyred grousing, his friend had a point. This plan came with no shortage of ways to fail spectacularly. While the soldiers he’d picked to come along had been told their priority was to stay alive, it would be easier said than done if Kogane or the other Lions showed up. He had no fleet to back him, only twelve men and his own wits. He could easily be shot down or taken prisoner. There would be no negotiating for his release with the old man either.

He would be destroyed along with the rest of Arus’ population once the armada his father had gathered over the past few weeks—the one preparing to launch even as Lotor hung in orbit—arrived. For the billionth or so time, his common sense berated him for waiting up to the last minute. He should have done this long before. Anything that went wrong could cost him everything. He didn’t need that magnitude of pressure crushing down on him on top of all the rest.

Except he did. Haggar had spoken painful yet pure truth. If he wanted Allura by his side, he had to force her there. And, he’d realized along the way, he would have to force himself to go through with it. In the end, neither of them could have a choice. She would have to yield. He would have to triumph. For either of them to do any less at this point meant destruction. If they couldn’t live together, at least they’d die together.

“Go, Saffrin,” he said, anger turned to ashes. “If we make it out of this, I’ll have a shrine erected in your honor myself.”

His friend nodded to him, all traces of skepticism and humor, real or faked, gone. “Get your princess.”

Lotor watched the twelve of them descend to the unsuspecting globe of blue, green, and white below. Then he leaned his head back against his seat and tried not to count the minutes until Allura’s arrival.

His instruments chirped to announce Blue Lion’s approach around the expected time. Each of their patrols had been predictably regular since neither he nor his father had given them cause for concern. He watched her draw ever closer against the backdrop of the universe and wondered what occasion it marked: the last time they would ever be apart, or the last they would ever see each other.

When she had come close enough for him to make out the joints in Blue Lion’s smooth metallic limbs, she finally hailed him.

“Lotor,” she said with surprising civility. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“News.” Knots of tension ached across his shoulder blades. “The urgent kind. May I have a word with you, down on the ground? Preferably out in the canyons, away from your castle’s sensors. I don’t have much time, so I’d rather our conversation not be interrupted by falcon cannons or missiles.”

Only a split second of hesitation preceded her reply of, “All right. Lead the way.”

All the carefully crafted arguments he’d concocted while waiting collapsed in on themselves. Lotor blinked, at a loss for a moment. If it had been anyone other than Allura, he’d have become instantly suspicious. Rousing himself from surprised stupor, he nodded, knowing somehow she’d be able to see it, and turned his cruiser toward Arus.

-

Within fifteen minutes, Allura stood with Lotor in one of the ravines that cracked the rocky, arid landscape of the southern Altean continent. About an hour’s hike away lay the famed Valley of Zohar, where their fathers had faced each other in their last, legendary duel. She suspected Lotor hadn’t chosen the spot for its dramatic personal history, though; the deposits of crystals inside the caverns pocking many of the canyon’s depths had a handy way of interfering with sensory and navigation instruments, the Lions the only exception found to date.

Sweat already slicked her brow and tickled behind her ears when she slipped her pink flight helmet off. “What’s happened now?” For a moment, she reflected how odd it felt to fear something other than just the man standing across from her. Odd, yet somehow…liberating. Like keeping him at bay had consumed a huge portion of her time and energy without her even realizing it. Would she have accomplished much more for Arus if she’d just tried to negotiate with him sooner?

The still, mask-like expression that settled over Lotor’s face blocked her from pursuing the train of thought. “I don’t know how to lead into this, so I’ll spare us both any preamble. There’s a fully-loaded armada of Galran ships headed for Arus. Carriers, destroyers, fighters, and multiple cargo ships loaded with so many bombs that there won’t be enough left of the planet to leave an asteroid belt as a reminder.”

“What?! Headed here right now?” She knew how stupid the question sounded as soon as it left her mouth, but it was an almost involuntary reaction–-a herald of shock.

Lotor’s lackluster smile showed he understood. “Yes, Allura. Right now. Final checks were being run when I left Korrinoth, in fact. It should be launching in about half an hour, your time.”

For a minute, her mind went utterly, terribly blank. Like all her thoughts had run for cover, hiding from belief in what he’d told her. But then, in a dizzying flurry, they returned, linking together to form a plan as surely as the Lions did to form Voltron.

“I’ll call the rest of the team,” she said. Her thoughts flashed through her neurons so fast that she needed to share them, just in case she forgot or misplaced one. “And I’ll contact Pollux. We’ve all been standing by for something like this, so it won’t take long for them to get here. I’ll cause a distraction in Blue Lion if I have to. As long as the cargo ships don’t touch down, we can deal with an invasion. The citizens are already in the shelters, thank goodness. Yes, that’s a start.” The need to do something overcame the urge to figure out what the something would be. Turning on her heel, Allura went to sprint to her Lion.

A firm grip on her upper arm kept her in place. Looking back at Lotor, she saw him slowly, almost sadly, shake his head.

“No. Not this time, Allura.”

“What? Lotor, let—”

“No.” That word again. “This isn’t some two-bit fleet slapped together for the weekly raid on Arus—which, by the way, you barely managed to repel half the time.”

An outraged blush ignited in her cheeks. “We held you off just fi—”

“Be silent and _listen_.” His command echoed off the canyon walls like the report of a cannon, making her jump. “The only reasons you and your knights in spandex armor are alive after this long is because you’ve never warranted the full attention of our forces. Well, congratulations—you’ve finally annoyed my father to the point where he wants to destroy you in person. There are only two ways to avoid that, and neither involve rushing out half-cocked to meet him in combat. Deities know those two options aren’t even guaranteed to work.”

Mouth a stunned, slack oval, Allura goggled at him in silence. Another demand that he release her, a protest that he couldn’t do this to her, trembled on the very tip of her tongue. She crushed them up against the roof of her palette.

Because, as she’d noticed, he damn well could do it to her. Was, in fact. And short of wrestling out of his grip somehow, she wasn’t going to get him to let her go.

As the reality of her own lack of power sank in, a tide of panic rose, until her mind was almost submerged beneath its turbulent depths. With the self-destructive determination of a snared animal, Allura began to twist and jerk against his unyielding grip.

“Why are you doing this?” she shouted, voice thickening with a gathering storm of burning tears. “You promised to help Arus! You _promised!_ ”

A flinch broke the stern fortifications of his expression, but only for a fraction of an instant. “I _am_ helping. Not in the way you want, but in the one you need.”

“Liar!” She punctuated her accusation with a left-handed punch to his arm. She may as well have been striking a stone pillar with a wad of cotton. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? To pretend you wanted things to change, then invade at the first chance you got!”

An exasperated sigh blew out of him. “This isn’t an invasion, Allura. It’s an execution. Now are you going to listen to me about how to stop it or continue to throw a tantrum?”

_Tantrum_. Like she was a spoiled girl crying over her daddy not buying her a pony. This was the fate of her _world_ , her _home_ at stake. Millions of innocent lives hung in the balance while he wasted precious minutes scolding her. When he was the arrogant one, the traitor, the co-author of ever misery she and her people had ever endured. Her only crime had been trusting him, and now he expected her to pay for it with everything she held dear.

So, she did what any sane person in her position would.

Cocking back her leg, Allura let loose a scream of undiluted fury and aimed a shattering kick at Lotor’s knee. He may have been twice her size, but no matter how much muscle and height he had on her his joints were as vulnerable as anyone’s. Instead of the satisfying crunch of bone, though, she felt her foot connect with nothing but empty air. Lotor dodged the blow by shifting to one side. The next thing Allura felt was his grip on her arm tighten with bruising force as he lifted her clear off the ground, hefting her onto his shoulder like a sack of goodies. Or more like a sack of rabid cats, given the way she thrashed and shrieked.

“ _Put me down right now!_ ” She sensed several of Lance’s more descriptive words threatening to boil out of her. “Traitor! Monster! Rotten, despicable, pointy-eared, lying _bastard!_ ”

“Please, Allura. I’ll faint from such language.” He sounded more tired than amused. “And this is my last warning. Stop fighting me. We both have larger concerns than each other.”

An elbow bashed into the back of his skull expressed her thoughts eloquently. He staggered and recovered with a snarl. Before she could comprehend the full chain of consequences she’d set in motion, Allura felt him drop her. She rolled and hit the ground on her back, the air rushing from her lungs and small, sharp stones biting her skin through her jumpsuit. Pain washed away by a flashflood of adrenaline, she scrambled to her feet. Without bothering to look back at Lotor, she sprinted for Blue Lion. She had to get to the pilot’s seat. Had to launch, had to warn everyone—

Unlike in the funny old “science-fiction” films in Lance’s collection, she never heard any cute sound effects when Lotor fired the pistol he must have brought along for the occasion. Only felt the energy sizzle and split the air a second before it seared into her. Only enough to stun her nervous system, not enough power to shock her heart into arrest. Her body found little comfort in the distinction. Allura’s legs crumpled beneath her several yards from Blue Lion. She didn’t even have enough motor control to break her fall, going down hard and tasting dry, hot dirt. Her voice still worked well enough to allow her to scream to her heart’s content while every other muscle she owned felt like it was being wrung and torn by fiery hands. That wasn’t what had tears streaming down her cheeks to water the parched land, though.

Her planet. Her people. She had failed them. No—worse.

She had condemned them.

-

Lotor quashed the urge to apologize as he gathered Allura, twitching, jerking, and all, into his arms. He avoided the look of utter betrayal brimming over in the form of tears from her blue eyes. Regret would do neither of them any good and she would never believe he meant his share. And, honestly, if he looked below the surface, he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. For causing her physical pain, yes, but the emotional discomfort...no. If _Jui Kuhalth_ had taught him anything, it was that personal growth felt a lot like one’s soul being shattered and ground to bits under a bootheel before being reassembled. It was agony…but it would pass.

He remained silent while he walked to his cruiser. After laying Allura back down in Blue Lion’s shadow so the sun wouldn’t be in her eyes, he hopped up onto his ship’s wing, reached into the cockpit, and grabbed the flare gun he’d brought for just that moment. Aiming it at the clear Arusian sky, he sent a garish green column of smoke into the air. It still hung there when Saffrin and the rest of the squadron appeared above several minutes later.

The others hovered while his friend brought his fighter down for a landing, kicking up a small storm of fine, red dust and forcing Allura to abandon her attempt to stand in favor of shielding her face as best she could. Keeping one hand lowered over his own eyes, Lotor strolled over to collect her again. Whimpers that belied her intentions came out of her when she felt him get his arms beneath her—she threw a handful of dust at his face, missing and hitting his chest instead. A smile born from a bizarre mix of admiration for her spirit and frustration at her sheer stubbornness took over his mouth. Though stunned and panicked, she must’ve caught onto his plan, simple as it was.

“Come on, Allura,” he said, headed not for his cruiser but for the fighter Saffrin had vacated for them. “Let’s go home.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor makes a getaway and the Voltron Force sees for the first time just how big their problems really are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaping helpings of gratitude go out to tuonetar, FlightFright, Geeeny, MalevoLiss, Andelevion, Erisethx, spaceChai, Lightning_Streak, MadelineL, ItCameFromTheDeep, I_cloudy, DifferentDances, TiffanyBlue, CrimsonClover, tisifone21, MrsKohakuSato, ding_dong_beach, yeet-on-them-haters and everyone who's kindly read, left kudos, bookmarks, or comments! 
> 
> @ ding_dong beach: Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I hope the story continues to give you just as much enjoyment as it goes along. Don't hesitate to tell me if you have any feedback or thoughts. :)
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> @ yeet-on-them-haters: I'm afraid I don't have any definite plans for Klance or Kallura in this particular story, though there are hints here and there. However, I do plan on writing some oneshots and stories that deal with other pairings from Legendary Defender in the near future for sure. So I hope you stick around for those. :D
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> @CrimsonClover: Can I tell you how much I love your reviews? Seriously, thank you for all your thoughts. 
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> Yeah, I always thought it would have been much smarter in the original show for Allura (or even her parents) to have allied themselves with the Drules. I understand the Drules kept slaves and did lots of other terrible things, but it would have been smarter to live another day and try to undermine the empire from within rather than idealistically oppose them outright and be destroyed. That's where the idea for this fic took root: in all the practical and political circumstances the show left out. I get that it was supposed to be a basic Giant-Robot-Destroys-Monster-of-the-Week type show, but it could have been more. Ah, well.
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> I do think Allura is drawn to Lotor on a physical and practical level in this story, you're right. It's just there are so many circumstances, past and present, that cast doubt on the possibility of a healthy relationship between them it would take a massive, risky leap of faith for her to go for it. Plus, what would Nanny say? Oh, horrors! :P In the end, I think it's possible for the two of them to work something out. Not something perfect and above scrutiny, but something nonetheless.
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> And rest assured, I am continuing this story. I just finished chapter sixteen, so it will still be a few weeks before the updates slow down to monthly installments. You'll also continue to see Sven and Romelle be part of the action, as well as the rest of Team Voltron. 
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> @MadelineL: I guess if Lotor and Allura did things the easy way this story wouldn't be half as interesting to read or write. :D Thank you for staying tuned!

Some people counted sheep when they couldn't fall asleep. Others drank herbal tea or warm milk. Relaxing music, intensive work outs, or reading a dull book numbered among popular techniques too, so he'd heard. Keith's personal solution just happened to be soaring over the Arusian landscape in Black Lion.

In most cases, a short flight helped pull his mind away from the thoughts and worries clamoring for its attention, drawing it back into the present moment. Allowed his body and senses to unite with it once again. But this time, Keith's focus didn't come anywhere near the twisting canyons that scarred the surface of the planet hundreds of meters below.

_Romelle may have discovered the identity of your mysterious Drule informant_. The anomaly of hesitancy in Sven's voice as he'd delivered the news had raised a red flag for Keith. They'd exchanged highlights since they'd last spoken, Sven listening with minimal commentary, then Keith returning the favor. To others, it might have seemed stiff and formal, more like a report than two old friends touching base, but it had always been their version of small talk.

_Yeah?_ Keith had prompted, not sure why his stomach did a somersault.

_Yeah, I'll spare you the suspense. Basically...shit. I can't believe I'm going to say this._

_Take your time. I'm listening,_ he'd found himself saying while he'd wished for a dose of his old friend's usual blunt manner. When not even Holgersson could spit it out, the news had to be earth-shaking.

Sven had taken a deep breath through his nose and released it from his mouth, black eyes fixed down at the console the whole time. They flickered back up as he delivered the blow. _Allura had papers among her personal things with Lotor's handwriting on them. We—that is, Romelle and I—have reason to believe he's the one who gave Arus the intel on that carrier, and that he's been meeting with Allura. For how long and in exchange for what we're not sure, but we can guess. And none of them lead to happy conclusions._

Keith had remained silent as his friend went into the details of what Romelle had seen and its absence when they'd gone looking for it later. His ears absorbed the words, but when they reached his brain they simply bounced off, hitting an impenetrable wall of incredulity. Not because he believed Sven or the Polluxian princess were lying. On the contrary, he trusted them as much as his own instincts and those declared what he heard couldn't be true. Mistaken, certainly. No other explanation could exist. Allura just wouldn't lie, not about something that huge— _especially_ about something that huge. Not about Lotor most of all.

Their conversation had ended with him thanking Sven for the heads up and assuring him that he'd speak to the princess first thing. Once he did, Keith had no doubt the whole situation would be sorted out as a misunderstanding. Except sleep still refused to come while he waited for Allura's return to Pollux. The conversation kept popping up in his mind like one of those cheesy monsters in Lance's movies, attacking again and again. Every time Keith had closed his eyes the look on Sven's face as he'd reported the information—the mistaken information—haunted the darkness behind his lids. Grimness softened with an edge of almost pity. They'd been friends since Garrison academy. Sven knew about the scars the past had etched on his heart, what a risk he took in feeling...whatever he felt for Allura. And how something like her dealing with Lotor by herself would affect him.

If it were true. Which it wasn't.

Keith sighed and sank further into the pilot's seat, Black Lion slowing to hang in the air above the canyons. The old standby wasn't working. Maybe it was time to head back to the castle and risk a shot or two of an eighty plus proof remedy. Not enough to result in a hangover, though even that would almost be a welcome distraction from the anxious loop of thoughts repeating in his head.

He was so off his game that he nearly overlooked them as he turned. About a dozen small craft rose out of the canyons on his ten. Drule fighters. And right smack in the middle of them hovered the familiar sight of what Lance had dubbed The Bat Out of Hell. Lotor's battle cruiser. Stunned at their audacity, Keith hung in the air a moment. He bounded forward, ready to chase them off or engage if need be. His mind reached out to establish a comm link so he could demand to know why they were trespassing, although no excuse would be good enough in his book. Needless, as it turned out. While they scattered at his approach he got a good look at what they'd been up to.

Blue Lion sat patiently on the rocky ground of the canyon bottom. Empty, in other words. Black could sense its comrade's dormancy.

Drules on Arus. Lotor leading them. The princess gone from the safety of her Lion. Keith didn't need to know anything else. It all added up to the same catastrophe: the Prince of Doom had Allura.

“ _No!_ ” he shouted, his Lion translating it into a sky-splitting roar.

Ignoring the small fry, he streaked toward the battle cruiser—the only thing that mattered. Instead of gaining altitude like his escorts Lotor took off toward the castle, his craft's exhaust burning with the intense blue of full throttle. It still wasn't fast enough, not to outrun Black.

“Stop and return the princess, Lotor,” Keith snarled through the established comm link. “Or I'll bring you down the hard way.”

No reply. The hard way it was then.

Black Lion gained on the cruiser bit by bit. Keith's heart pounded to the rhythm of its cybernetic muscles. That murdering bastard wouldn't get away. Not this time. The second he came within range, Keith lunged for one of his prey's wings, claws outstretched and a savage joy singing in his blood. At the last fraction of a second, Lotor swerved. Black's fangs grazed molecular bonded alloys but snapped closed on air. Growling, Keith poured on the speed to close the gap again.

Thus began an aerial game of cat and mouse. Lotor would slow down slightly, almost taunting his pursuer. As soon as Black Lion caught up and pounced the cruiser would dip, dive, or in one case brake hard and let him pass. Then the cycle started all over again. The Prince of Doom knew Keith wouldn't want to risk firing on the ship with Allura inside.

What Lotor didn't know was that the captain had earned a reputation as one of the best shots to ever come out of Garrison. While resorting to it gave him pause, Keith figured the risk of losing the princess by dragging out the chase far outweighed the one of him accidentally injuring her.

As he closed the distance between him and cruiser yet again he sent a silent apology Allura's way, raised his tail laser, and blasted a chunk of black metal from one of the wings. Out in space it wouldn't have mattered much. In atmosphere, The Bat lurched and began to wobble. Before it could do much worse Keith made a final leap. Black's jaws caught a firm grip on the damaged wing. He didn't allow himself an iota of relief, though. He would save that for when he saw Allura safely back at the castle and Lotor in chains. Tugging on the cruiser's wing, he began to force a landing. The Drule prince, not a complete idiot, complied. They touched down on the open grass within sight of the castle.

“Okay, here's how it's going to work,” Keith said, glad he could though Black's mouth was still full. “You're going to open the hatch slowly. Allura is going to stay inside until I say otherwise. It's as simple as that. Try to complicate things and it'll be the last move you ever make. Am I clear?”

Still no response. His Lion tensed to give The Bat an encouraging shake a moment before the hatch started to open as per instruction. Keith almost regretted demanding the process be slow; his nerves wound tighter with each elapsed second, waiting, needing, praying for a glimpse of Allura. To see she was unharmed. That she would come back to him.

What he saw first turned out to be blue, not pink. Two raised arms emerged from the hatch, followed by a helmeted head. Keith's eyes grew to match his horror as he took in each feature of the cruiser's true pilot. No axe-like wings on the helmet. Short, dark blue hair beneath it. Similar yellow, feline eyes to the Prince of Doom but quick and creased at the corners with anxiety. Whimsical upturn at the end of the nose and thinner lips. The Drule officer who wasn't Lotor gave him a lopsided, sheepish grin and shrugged with his arms still in the air, like a small town teenager apologizing to a cop for a joyride. Breathless, Keith felt the force of his rage swell in him like a coming tsunami, rolling out from the epicenter of terror rocking his core.

He'd been so blinded by his panic to get Allura back that he hadn't seen the signs of a trick. Lotor never would have kept quiet, much less led him on a wild goose chase toward the castle. He would have taken off straight for space and Doom.

Just like those fighters had.

Keith's scream through gritted teeth was echoed by his Lion's growl. The protesting screech of metal drowned both out as his jaws clamped tighter on The Bat. Black wrenched the cruiser off the ground, sending the Drule tumbling from the cockpit, and hurled it like a dead bird to crash dozens of yards away, one wing nearly torn off. The display cost him precious seconds, though. Redirecting the torrent of emotion, Keith launched into the air, poured on all the speed he had, and prayed his voice could be heard across the stars. 

-

“You won't get away with this,” Allura said for the fourth or fifth time.

Also for as many times, Lotor didn't bother to reply. Because at that point it looked pretty obvious that he _was_ getting away with it. Allura knew talking was the only thing insulating her from the panic building on the outskirts of her mind. The fighter had just left Arus' atmosphere and it wouldn't be more than a minute or two before it could warp. Keith was still somewhere below, a dupe of Lotor's bait and switch tactics. Her heart warred against what her brain told it: Unless a miracle occurred in the next thirty seconds her worst nightmares were set to come true.

She glanced around her cramped surroundings yet again in the hopes of finding something, anything that could save her. She supposed she could grab the first aid kit mounted across from her little fold out seat and bash Lotor over the head with it. At least, she assumed that's what it was—the box was dark green with a bright blue spiral-type symbol rather than the familiar white with a red cross. In any case, she decided against that course of action. While it would be easy enough with Lotor's back to her, his attention on making a clean getaway, she knew she couldn't drag his weight out of the pilot's seat even if she did knock him out cold. And besides, she had no experience flying this sort of craft; the most likely outcome was that she'd turn them both into a heap of smoking wreckage on Arus' surface. Other than trying to threaten that she'd bash her head against the walls or bite her tongue off, she found herself painfully short on options.

Fortunately, a solution tore a hole through reality off to the fighter's left at that moment and leaped out in a flash of silver and red.

“Lance!”

Like he'd heard her joyous shout, his Lion turned burning yellow eyes toward them. With a curse in Drule, Lotor veered upward.

Allura knew what she had to do then.

Her abused, aching body loathed her for it, but she threw off her safety restraints and lunged for the pilot's chair. Feeling like a little girl playing a prank on Nanny or Coran for an absurd moment, she clapped her hands over Lotor's eyes. The fighter lurched with his surprise. In the new angle of the view shield she saw her salvation assured: Black Lion was charging straight at them. Keith had come for her after all. In another few breaths he'd reach them and everything would be fine.

At least, it would have been if Lotor hadn't been so well-trained. With her hands blocking his vision, he still didn't miss a beat in hitting a sequence of switches on the fighter's control dash. She'd never warped in anything other than Blue Lion before, let alone while standing. When they entered the chaos-colored darkness of the opened rift, she knew it was a process she never wanted repeated.

 Allura felt her body twist like a dishrag being wrung out by monstrous hands. From it her mind and spirit oozed out, splashing into a world that made no sense. Up, down, left, right—they didn't exist anymore. Or they did, rather not as she understood them. New rules had attached themselves to direction, so she couldn't turn or look the way she meant to. No memories floated up to haunt her, but she badly wished they had. Even the worst ones would have been more welcome than being forced to see from every angle at once. Three hundred and sixty degrees all around, back, front, sides, outside, and inside. She'd been right about the box being a first aid kit. She also found out what her heart looked like while pumping terror and adrenaline through her body. As the neat stitching of her sanity began to unravel, her mind unable to process what it wasn't meant to know, she swore she could see the threads drifting up from her brain. Silvery filaments catching the ethereal winds, ready to blow away to realms unknown. The fact she couldn't figure out how to scream or sob didn't seem fair.

_Allura!_

The sound of her name halted the dissolution. Her billowing threads of self reeled back in, winding into a protective ball. She knew that voice—or whatever passed for a voice in this surrealist hell.

_Keith? Keith, is that you?_

_Hang on, Allura! We're almost there! I won't lose you!_

_My God, how is this possible? We've only been able to establish a link while in the Lions!_

_I don't know. We can figure it out later. Let's just get you—_

Darkness folded around her like a pair of black wings, blotting out Keith's voice and the warmth of his presence. Somehow, she knew it was Lotor, bearing her away from everything she loved. Allura tired to shove his possessive darkness away, only she didn't know how. A horrible sensation, like being sucked up a narrow straw, followed. The next thing she knew, she lay curled up on the floor of the fighter, her head feeling like someone had used it as a punching bag. Groaning, she forced herself to struggle to a sitting position, then use the pilot's chair to claw her way up onto her feet.

Seeing what waited beyond the view shield, she wished she'd stayed down.

-

Keith didn't know what he'd find when the rift finally spat him and Lance out. He'd never warped without a specific destination in mind. All he'd had to cling to was his desperation to reach Allura, but it had been enough. It had allowed him to follow her.

Right into the middle of an armada of Galran war ships.

There were thousands. Tens of thousands. They stretched on into space as far as his eyes could see in all directions. Keith's jaw dropped, his heart plummeting into an abyss. He could scarcely believe so many could be housed on one planet. And this was just from Doom, not the Supremacy proper. What would happen once either turned their full attention toward Terra and the Alliance?

He got a pretty good idea once every ship within range opened fire.

Crimson light seared Keith's vision. Tore into his Lion's hide until he felt as though he'd been thrown into a crater of magma. He managed to dance through some of the hits, but there were simply too many in the end. Yet he forced himself to push forward, keep sight of the fighter in the blinding light as it flitted through the breaks too small for him to use. He charged on even as he felt chunks of Black's flanks and limbs torn away, his strength and hope bleeding from the wounds. It didn't matter if he survived. Getting to Allura. Getting her home. That mattered. He would die happily as long as he knew she was safe and back where she belonged.

“Keith! Keith, we have to retreat! They're tearing us apart!”

He ignored the voice of reason that sounded suspiciously like Lance and focused on the fighter. Farther away than ever now. But he had to keep going. As long as there was some fragment left of him it would reach Allura and tear open a rift for her.

“ _Keith!_ Goddamn it, _listen_ to me! We're no good to the princess dead!”

He couldn't abandon her. He couldn't leave her in the hands of that monster. Couldn't fail her. It would be worse than her dying. Worse than—

A new kind of pain interrupted his suicide run as fangs sank into one of Black's hind legs.

“No!” Keith raged as he felt Red Lion yank him backwards, dragging them both through a fresh rift.

He plunged into a sea of memories, drowning in the crushing deep. A kindly voice gently explaining that there had been a terrible accident. _No Survivors_ glaring across the bottom of the breaking news report on the holo screen. Shrugging off the hands that tried to keep him from the front door. Miles upon miles of highway, asphalt glittering from a light rain like the scaly hide of a huge serpent in his headlights as he drove at breakneck speed. The field, blackened from fire, twisted wreckage scattered across it to match his dreams of the future. Firefighters and rescue workers swarming over the smoldering carcass of the ruined plane that was supposed to bring her back to him. More hands and yellow police tape trying to bar him from seeing if the hand sticking out from under one of the tarps on the ground was hers. If it wore the ring he'd slipped onto her finger two months ago, while she'd kissed him over and over, whispering, _Yes, of course I will, yes._ The words _Beverly Hagel, Loving Daughter and Fiance_ carved into a stone at the head of a plot of freshly turned earth.

Keith felt himself fished out from the subconscious depths, tossed onto the shores of reality once more. But the tears he'd shed that gray day at the grave followed him into the present to pour down his face once again.

-

After an eternity the barrage ended. Soaked in sweat, Lotor could do little else but try to catch his breath and thank the goddess Inalia for deciding on another day to devour his soul.

“Craft Enec431-Zas96,” said a Drule voice over the comm, “identify yourself.”

Oh, _now_ they wanted to acknowledge his presence. Not having enough strength left for wrath, he kept his reply to the point. “This is Prince Lotor. Is my father aboard one of these ships? Get him on the line.”

A pause before, “At once, Your Imperial Highness.”

While the news was being relayed to the old man Lotor slowly got out of his seat, feeling every kink and strain he'd acquired while dodging for their lives. Between the two of them, Allura looked the worse for wear, thanks to her having unbuckled herself. Her blue eyes were huge, doll-like and dazed. Disoriented from the warp probably, or shocked by her knights in robotic armor's retreat maybe. A small gash adorned her brow at the hairline, trickling blood down over the circlet she always wore. No doubt she'd have a gallery of bumps and bruises from being knocked around by his evasive maneuvers too. From the med-kit mounted nearby he pulled an antiseptic wipe and small liquiskin plaster. After tearing open the wipe's foil pack, he crouched down and reached out to dab her forehead. Her eyes cleared instantly. She launched herself away from him with her legs, nearly bashing the back of her skull against the side hatch. Like a cornered animal, she bared her teeth at him.

So much for trying to make nice. Dropping his arm with a sigh he rose and took his seat again. Emotions could be sorted out later. Assuming there was a later in their immediate future. Lotor clung to optimism, though—he had nothing else at that point.

The faint sound of a breath being drawn alerted him to a presence on the other end of the comm an instant before a voice followed.

“So, boy. Snuck off to play with your kitty cat friends again, I take it. I suppose I should feel grateful you only wasted a handful of ships this time. I also suppose you have a perfect excuse for disobeying me. Again.”

Banter being the last thing that would preserve their hides, Lotor stowed his sarcasm for later. “I have Princess Allura, Father.”

He only wished the fighter's comm had visual; the expression on the old pirate's face that accompanied his stunned silence must have been a once in a lifetime sight. As it stretched on, though, Lotor's nerves began to stir. It would be easy for his father to have them destroyed. One blast and he'd be rid of an embarrassing son as well as a Voltron pilot.

“I see,” the old man said finally, deciding they were of more use to him alive than dead. “This is turning into a day for surprises. Meet me back at the throne room and bring your guest along. We'll discuss her stay. And whether or not I got dressed up for nothing.”

The lump weighing heavily in the pit of Lotor's stomach in no way resembled hope. Instinct and experience told him they were still too deep in the maw of danger to relax. Yet if they had his father's interest they had a chance and Lotor had gotten by on less before. Setting a course for Korrinoth below, he hoped the destiny that Hagger had hinted at wouldn't be over within the next hour.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura gets her first glimpse of life on Doom and comes face to face with the monster who's haunted her nightmares since childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MrsKohakuSato, tisifone21, CrimsonClover, TiffanyBlue, DifferentDances, I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, MadelineL, Lightning_Strike, spaceChai, Eristhx, Andelevion, MaleoLiss, Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, Lpsfan100, DinG_dOnG_bEach, yeet-on-them-haters, and everyone who's supported this fic with kudos, comments, bookmarks, or just good ol' fashioned lurking and reading. I'm constantly surprised that this is still gathering kudos and readers and appreciate all of you having taken the time to look at this story. 
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> @ MadelineL: "Livin' on a Prayer" could definitely be the theme in several parts of this story, ha. And poor Keef is down but definitely not out, as are all the Voltron team and their allies. They'll continue to play important roles in the story and Allura's experiences as we go along.
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> @ CrimsonClover: I don't think Allura and Keith had much time to sort their feelings out beyond just inklings. Mostly because they were constantly dealing with attacks on Arus, but also partly because both tended to shy away from any real thoughts about pursuing a romance. I see Keith as afraid of losing someone all over again, especially given Allura lives in a war zone, and Allura as too afraid to take the initiative; she was waiting for Keith to make the first move and just would have followed along from there. You're right about him putting her on a pedastal, and she does much the same thing towards him. Neither sees the other (or themselves) too clearly yet--and Lotor's no exception to that either. He's definitely got a touch of wishy-washy-itis. 
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> Lance totally wanted people to think of the song when he dubbed Lotor's cruiser The Bat Out of Hell, hahaha.
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> I don't see the whole darkness engulfing Allura as they came out of the warp as really being Lotor, no. It's her own fears interpreting that for sure. As for Keith and Allura being able to communicate in the rift, the Lions have a lot of capabilities and side effects their pilots have no idea exist. Not yet anyway...*insert ominous organ music*

Doom. She was on Doom. Never had a place been so aptly named.

After Lotor landed and opened the fighter's hatch Allura found she couldn't breathe. At first she thought it might be a lack of oxygen in the alien atmosphere. Perhaps even something toxic in it that would kill her within minutes. The thought brought comfort rather than dread. The prince imperial stood in the open hatchway, staring as if he couldn't believe he'd succeeded any more than she could. But when he finally stepped toward her Allura knew primal terror was what had stolen her air. She scrambled back out of his reach.

Face scrunched into a scowl, Lotor crouched down to better make eye contact. “We don't have time for anymore games, Allura.”

Those words, in that order, lit a fuse inside of her. One moment she was huddled in a corner of the fighter and the next she'd launched herself straight at him. Her fingers lanced forward to tear those evil yellow eyes of his out. Only his reflexes saved him from blindness. Lotor jerked his head back with a sheared second to spare, her nails sinking into his cheeks and ripping red furrows down them. Hissing through his teeth, he captured her wrists and wrenched her clawing hands away. A sound, half-howl, half-shriek, erupted from her throat as she was yanked up and hefted over his shoulder. She had no concept of their surroundings. She didn't need one. Anywhere she might have looked would have still been Doom. All her attention and energy went into screaming, thrashing, and raging against the fate that would befall her once Lotor stopped walking. It was inevitable, but that didn't mean she had to go quietly.

At last, they slowed, forcing her heart to do the opposite. She felt Lotor's weight shift as he reached for something; the pneumatic whisper of a door sliding open followed after a pause. He went into motion again. Futile though it was, Allura grabbed onto the door frame. It didn't take Lotor more than a few seconds to pull and wrench her grip free, breaking a couple of her nails in the process. The door shut behind them with a final, ominous hiss. Unceremoniously, Allura found herself dumped onto the floor. A deep, wine-colored carpet of the most plush material she'd ever encountered cushioned her fall. She snapped her gaze up to Lotor. This was it. The part where he would pounce on her like a starving animal on meat.

Lotor's attention, she discovered, lay elsewhere. His eyes had settled on something above and beyond her. When he spoke it came out in brusque Drule, directed at the mysterious target. Tension slackening into confusion, Allura twisted around to look. Shock burst through her bemusement at the realization she wasn't the only woman in the room. Not one but three female Drules stood a few paces behind her, listening to Lotor without expressions. The one in the middle made a short reply that had the lifted end of a question. Lotor fired back an exasperated answer that made the female's features tighten, a muscle in her cheek jumping as if with a suppressed snarl. Blinking, Allura turned back again only to find him huffing out a sigh and tacking on a word she recognized from her brief language lessons.

_Hala_. Please.

Not that she was about to complain over his lack of instant ravishment...but what in the cosmos was _going on?_

Finally remembering she existed, Lotor glanced down and noted her dumbfounded stare. Reassurance didn't come attached to his smile. “These ladies are going to prepare you for our meeting with Father, Allura.”

She couldn't have been more wrong about this nightmare degenerating further.

“Your...father?” she repeated through numb lips.

“Yes,” he said, annihilating her hopes of a hearing problem. “You might have caught us speaking before I landed the fighter, though you couldn't have followed our Drule.”

Nebulous memories of being startled by a smug, basso voice booming over the comm drifted back to her. She'd only heard Zarkon speak a handful of times before and always in English.

Zarkon. The tyrant who had murdered her family in cold blood on the steps of their home, all but destroyed her planet afterwards, and had done the same to countless people before and since.

The tyrant Lotor meant to introduce her to in person.

“No.” While Allura didn't shout, the word resonated with a finality and loathing that shook the core of her bones.

The skin of Lotor's face darkened, a portent of the storm gathering behind his narrowed eyes. He fired a warning first. “If we don't meet with Father he's going to hop right back on his flagship and lead the armada to Arus. Then, not only will your planet be dead, but you'll still be stuck here with me.”

She'd believed her hopes had already been exterminated. The agony that seared through her chest proved otherwise. His words cornered the remaining stragglers with the awful truth: she had so much more to lose still. There was nothing she could do about the situation, only react to it at this point. A choice lay before her—as strong as the urge to deny it, to play the helpless victim welled up in her, she had to acknowledge there was indeed always a choice, no matter how unthinkable. She could dig in her heels, fight like mad, and keep some honor by defying Lotor and his butchering father. Or she could barter that honor for the lives of her people, finding out whether Keith and Lance still lived, and a remote chance of living to escape another day.

“I. Hate. You.” Allura hadn't said such a thing since she was a child. And then never with anything but petulance fueling it. Even toward those who'd attacked Arus before—Yurak, Haggar, and the rest—she hadn't felt such a corrosion of her natural goodwill. Hadn't wished they were dead, painfully so—and maybe that her hands had been the instruments of their demise.

A rictus split Lotor's lips. “Yes, I imagine you do. But it's a start, I suppose.”

Letting that cryptic remark be his last, he nodded to the triad of Drule females before, of all things, leaving.

When the heat of her rage cooled enough to allow some of her thoughts to solidify, she registered that someone was speaking to her. She looked up into the face of the middle Drule woman.

“Princess, may we put hands on you?” From the exasperated edge sharpening the otherwise polite words, Allura gathered they'd been repeated several times already.

Permission to touch her. That's what was being asked, Allura realized. A sound between a scoff and sob wrenched out of her. What was the point of such a question? She had been reduced to Lotor's property here; consent was nothing but a formality.

“Does it matter?” she replied, not disguising her bitterness.

The Drule cocked her head, pupils dilating several degrees. “Yes. That is my meaning for asking you, Princess.”

Fury scalded the walls of Allura's chest and skull again. She wanted to scream at the woman. Tell her exactly where she could stuff her mocking questions, sideways at that. Spending time around the guys on the Force, especially Lance, had armed her well.

Except some cool, logical part of Allura bound her tongue. While it was quickly becoming apparent that Drule facial expressions tended to differ from human ones, the confusion advertised in the woman's translated clearly. Allura just wanted a scapegoat. To sacrifice something or someone to appease the storm of wrath, despair, and terror howling inside of her. Who better than one of Lotor's own people since she couldn't get at the man himself? That she had the capacity to be so hateful chilled her, blowing out the flames of indignation. Instead, she took the opportunity to study the three women, a side of the enemy's population she'd never had the chance to see before.

The one who had been doing all the speaking so far appeared to be the eldest. Of course, how old Allura couldn't pinpoint; the Drule's unlined, blue-violet face could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty. Or what equated to that range in their people—Drules supposedly enjoyed a longer lifespan than humans. Rather, the aura of maturity sprang from the way the woman carried herself. The squared, authoritarian set to her shoulders. How her pale hair had been restrained in a neat, no-nonsense bun at the back of her head. The lack of arrogance or uncertainty in her steady yellow gaze. No wonder Lotor had given ground when faced with her displeasure. This was no lady to trifle with.

By contrast, the Drule to her right seemed very young indeed. She blinked and gave a little twitch when Allura looked at her, revealing a more unguarded personality. While the elder possessed an austere, stately beauty, the younger easily qualified for lovely and then some. Her white hair frothed in thick waves around her delicate features like sea foam. She shared the light powder blue of Lotor's own skin tone. A nervous smile flickered over her face, and Allura decided to turn her scrutiny toward the last. Nobody would have mistaken her for a man despite her hair having been sheared to indigo stubble. Her round cheeks and the faint lines around her mouth hinted that she had once been accustomed to smiles and laughter, but sorrow had invaded and overthrown them. She studied Allura even as she was studied, cat-like eyes holding no judgments, only intelligence and regrets.

All three women wore simple white robes with mantles that brought images of churches and choirs to mind. All sported ornate daggers of varying design on a belt or chain around their hips. If they were servants then Lotor was a gentleman.

“What are you going to do to me?” Allura asked, her fear of not knowing greater than of receiving the answer.

“Do to you,” the middle woman repeated, as if trying to make sense of the words. “Ah. We will put clothes onto you.” She circled a finger around her face. “Paint?”

“Make-up,” Allura supplied.

“Make-up, yes. And decorate your hair. To face the emperor with no fear. Like a woman.”

It would take more than getting dolled up to accomplish that miracle. And a woman was among the last things she wanted Zarkon to see her as. She shuddered.

But at the moment all that mattered was survival. Horror and grief would have to wait their turns. Allura held out a hand and the eldest Drule helped pull her to her feet.

The trio went to work immediately. Like scavengers picking a carcass clean, they stripped her of her flight suit and boots. Their hands moved with haste and efficiency, urging her into a pair of trousers first. White and made of a snug, downy material, they were the last things Allura expected to find herself in. No gauzy wisp of a skirt with scandalous slits up the sides? No low cut dress that would have her charms half-spilling out and Nanny fainting dead away? Maybe Lotor just didn't want to share his spoils.

The Drule women had to shake her out of her bitter reverie for the next part of the outfit. They lifted a garment that looked like the hybrid child between an elaborate jacket and a gown from the room's bed. The front of what would have been the skirt had been cut and hemmed back, leaving her legs free and mostly exposed. The neckline lived up to its name, reaching high like a mandarin collar.  The upper half of the garment hugged her torso once the back was laced up.

A few minutes passed before Allura realized that the stiff material built in beneath wasn't there for shaping or support, not entirely anyway. Her eyes widened as she recognized the feel of light body armor protecting her vital organs. One of the women held her hand while another helped her step into supple leather knee boots with low, practical heels.

Everything shone white, with flashes of silver accent. Polished beads of what she presumed were ivory dotted the edges of her almost-skirt, along with the trailing fabric that fell from behind her shoulders as well as the cuffs of the sleeves that hugged the rest of her arms.

“This isn't a wedding dress, is it?” she blurted, blood congealing. She wasn't ready for such a disaster. Not that she ever would be, but with all the other events whirling out of her control...her already cracked courage would shatter entirely under the strain.

A giggle escaped the youngest Drule and earned a sharp, silencing glance from the eldest.

“No,” the latter answered. “You, a human, have no way to know. This thing is called _yelshon_. It is for meeting, but not with friends or family. White does not say the same to us as it does to you. No 'good, clean, happy'. White to our eyes means die. Fight. Kill. Like the teeth we show to enemies. To see their bones in the dust. White like the face of Inalia.”

At that, the triad of women pressed a hand to the middle of their breasts. Allura felt her stomach alternate between dipping into troughs of relief and riding crests of dread. Lotor's hold over Arus or her wouldn't be put down on paper at least, not yet. But the fact they had dressed her more or less for a funeral gifted her with a whole new set of concerns.

Finished with her outfit, her companions moved to her hair and face. Something that smelled like citrus was spritzed into the waves of her hair. It hung compliant and straight when the woman with the shaved head brushed and pulled it into a tight, high ponytail. The sprightly young Drule went to the task of dabbing some light base onto Allura's face here, applying some shimmering powder there.

When her peculiar fairy godmothers turned her toward a full length mirror, Allura gasped at the sight of the creature staring back at her.

Sheathed in white, every seam, hem, and hair in crisp order, she resembled an aloof spirit or goddess. Of ice, of unfeeling reason, of judgment—any or all of those things. Gone were her soft, pink features, replaced by pale, stark planes and sharp, forbidding lines. The color had been bled from her lips. Only her eyes appeared alive, though changed as well. Lined by dark gray and frosted with silver, their blue had become deep enough to drown in. The women truly had dressed her for the grimmest battle of her life.

“Good enough, for a small time,” declared the leader of the three.

“What are your names?” asked Allura, staring at them in the mirror.

They exchanged glances between themselves.

“Jeyli,” answered the youngest. From the thinning of her elder's lips, against some unspoken rule too.

“Brinu,” offered the short-haired woman.

With a sigh, the third gave in. “Ailonti.”

The last name tickled something fairly recent in Allura's memory. She had just traced it to the source when the door opened to admit Lotor.

“Good, you're ready.” He took in her appearance with an approving nod. “At least as much as you can be. It's time to go.”

Allura's gaze fled back to the stern face of the Drule woman who had supposedly trained Romelle. She found no comfort waiting for her there.

“Time for speaking will be later,” Ailonti said. “If you live.”

“She will. I'll see to it.” Lotor's gallant reply earned him a quartet of deadpan stares. Rather than shrink under their combined power he held out an oh-so-gracious hand to Allura.

She swept past him without a second glance to wait at the closed door. There was a long, slow sigh behind her. After he punched in the key code she stepped out as if he weren't there. Though Allura did her best, she knew she wouldn't memorize the twisting route they took through the halls. Not from a single trip. The black walls and floor held no adornments, nothing to serve as trail markers. All the doors they encountered were of the same kind as Lotor's, evenly spaced. She did take count of them however, noting fifty three before they arrived at an elevator. Of course, she had no intention of staying long enough to learn the way by heart.

Silence grew like a canker between them while they awaited the elevator. Allura's animosity swelled in proportion to her fear until she felt like her bones, muscles, and organs had been dissolved in churning, fizzing acid.

Seconds before the metal doors slid open she burst.

“Well? Aren't you supposed to be briefing me on what to expect?” She hardly recognized her own voice. Brittle but sharp as slivers of broken glass. “Customs, protocol, everything I need to survive this calamity? Not that I could count myself lucky if I do.”

Lotor coughed out a dry husk of a chuckle. “This is Father we're dealing with. If I tell you anything of use it's that expectations don't have a long life span here. Few things are as they seem in this place, Allura. Least of all my father, whose will shaped it.”

The black maw of the elevator opened and he stepped in. His gaze was cool while he held the door and waited for her to follow. The notion of running flirted with Allura for a moment. To deny him the convenience of her cooperation if even for a minute. Maybe she'd come across something of value in the halls to lay hands on and smash. Petty of her, but she could think of no immediate way to express the loathsome abscess festering in her heart because of him, his father, and their whole rapacious species at that moment.

Finally, she stepped into the elevator, standing as far from Lotor as possible. She wouldn't spend her wrath, not yet. Something told her it might prove the only thing strong enough to carry her through the ordeal to come.

They were sucked up into the throat of the elevator, being spit out on a rather high floor, judging from the length of the ride; Allura didn't know any of the Drule symbols for numbers. Lotor exited first and again the thought of leading him on a chase tempted her. Let the doors close and flee somewhere, anywhere. Instead, she followed.

Mosaics and tapestries decorated the vaulted hall on that level. Stone and metal work pieces graced illuminated alcoves along the way. Allura absorbed or appreciated none of it. Fight or flight instinct took a bite of her capacity for higher reason with every step toward the great double doors looming at the hall's end. That was it, she knew. Behind those waited the executioner of her whole family and despoiler of her world. She went to face him not armed to the teeth or supported by allies but in the morbid Drule equivalent of a party dress and with the man she despised most in the universe.

For Arus, though, she would do it. For her people, she would do anything. It became her mantra as they approached: for Arus, for Arus, all for Arus.

By the time Lotor put his hands against one side of the doors and glanced at her, Allura had achieved a state of disassociation if not calm. Her muscles were strung so taut that she could barely nod to him. The face carved in relief on the huge doors—she got the fleeting impression of drama's grimacing and laughing masks—split apart as Lotor pushed.

Dizziness rolled over Allura in a disorienting wave. She fought against it, mind clawing for the surface and control. Blinking, she checked her breathing. She was breathing, wasn't she? Yes, in shallow, sharp little pants. Slower. Deeper. That was better. The last thing she needed was to pass out. Her gaze scampered around the scene before her, snatching at details.

Drules packed the cavernous chamber from wall to wall, with only a trail in the midst of them left clear. The weight of hundreds of pairs of gleaming yellow eyes pressed against Allura. Her knees tried to buckle under the strain, but she locked them. Was she shaking? No, no part of her could move. She had to order her lungs to breathe again. When Lotor stepped forward, proceeding along the clear path, she followed out of pure instinct.

The Drules stared openly at her as she passed. Something primeval in her brain, recognizing a contest of strength when it saw one, had her meeting as many as she could for several seconds each. Allura would have said she'd harbored few expectations, but the tickles of surprise that brushed her awareness flushed them out of hiding. There were no masculine leers, no feminine titters behind fluttering fans like Nanny had described from her ballroom days. The blue, purple, or odd green faces she passed displayed nothing, inscrutable as snakes. Only a small number split to show fangs in hungry grins. Fewer still kept their teeth sheathed behind ever so slightly smiling lips. Allura granted no reaction to either.

All, men and women, wore white finery similar to what she had been dressed in. The only difference came in the form of the scarlet paint streaked across each face. Splatters, spirals, spidery lines webbed like bloody cracks in blue skin—no two designs could be called alike. Savages. Just as Romelle had said. Beautiful, sophisticated savages.

Lotor came to a stop at last. Allura followed his example. She blinked at the set of stone stairs before them. Her eyes climbed up, up, up until they reached a pair of large, heavy boots. She couldn't force her sight or courage past that point.

It didn't matter. The boots started to come down to her.

Stair by stair they descended, falling lightly despite their size. They came to rest a scant pace away. It dawned on Allura that following them so intently had brought her eyes to the floor. Her pride bucked under the realization, throwing caution away from the reins. To lower herself into a kneel would lower her status in the minds of the predators surrounding her. Instinct impressed that upon her more than any etiquette book could have. Keeping her gaze in the dirt, so to speak, would do the same. Head feeling as heavy as if it had been cast from iron, she nonetheless commanded it to rise. Her eyes strained inch by inch toward their goal. Up the black and crimson robes edged in gold that draped the massive frame before her. Past the smirking lips, dimpled by peeking fangs, that Lotor had so obviously inherited. Finally, into eyes that burned as yellow and foul as brimstone mined in Hell. Reptilian pupils expanded, trying to suck Allura into their darkness.

“Father,” came Lotor's voice somewhere to the side and a million miles away, “may I—”

“No,” said the lips. The word rolled out of the great chest and over the assembly like the promise of distant thunder. “You may not, boy.”

In the following silence she could hear the collective heartbeat of everyone in the chamber, more a low frequency vibration that pulsed through her than a sound. Or perhaps that was merely the desperate pistoning of her own, trying to flush her body with as much life as it could before death stilled it. Words materialized in her mind, but she gave them no voice. They were insubstantial, ghosts of her hopes and beliefs. Their wailing wouldn't frighten the very real monster in front of her.

“So,” Zarkon spoke after the pause, “he finally managed to get his hands on you, did he?”

It took a moment to deduce that by “he” the Galran emperor meant Lotor. Allura's attention had shrunk to Zarkon and the eddies of adrenaline whirling through her body, the rest of the universe quite forgotten.

“The only thing he's managed is to further cement the enmity of Arus and myself,” she answered in a voice so even she didn't know how it could belong to her.

The lines bracketing Zarkon's mouth and forking out from the edges of his gleaming eyes like lightning deepened as his smile grew. “And what exactly does the enmity of Arus earn one, Princess?”

“Why don't you ask Yurak or Prince Avok of Pollux?” The instant it escaped from her mouth Allura thanked Altarus her cousins or anyone she knew weren't present. Flaunting kills like badges of honor already—and one was family, no matter how distant. What would this place do to her over a longer period of time?

His lids drooped, banking the fires of his eyes while he considered her anew. She didn't know whether to call it an encouraging sign. She didn't know anything anymore—the rules of reality had been completely rewritten within the a few short hours.

When Zarkon's hand rose and came toward her, Allura's body petrified. If he touched her she knew the illusion of ice and indifference the Drule women had cast over her would shatter. Blood would seep out of his touch from all the lives those hands had ripped away. Soak her white clothing with vivid crimson. She would become six-years-old again, watching her mother's golden hair catch the sunlight as her severed head tumbled gracefully from its former perch. Just like then, she would scream and scream and scream, but there wouldn't be any Coran to carry her away from the horror.

Zarkon paused, clawed tips of his fingers hovering a mere inch from her shoulder. Allura stared at the hard sinews beneath the violet skin, the huge knuckles. That hand could envelope half of her skull. Crush it like an egg, her thoughts left to drip and puddle on the floor until some slave mopped them up.

Instead, his hand withdrew. “Well. I'll just have to see, won't I? It'll be entertaining, if nothing else.” The words were little more than a rumble, spoken mostly to himself.

What the old monster planned on seeing, Allura had no idea. The only thing she had eyes for was the dagger Zarkon drew from behind the cover of his crimson cloak. To someone of her size it looked more like a short sword. It bore little resemblance to the ones the Drule women had worn, the grip wrapped in hide, the crossguard simple. The light of the throne room gleamed off the honed edge of the slightly curved blade. Resignation drifted through Allura's body like a narcotic. Her limbs turned heavy, as if filled with pounds of sand. There was no way she could dodge a strike, not at that range. Had Lotor brought his sword? She hadn't noticed. Anyhow, the best he could do with it was avenge her. Either way she'd be just as dead.

Allura's grim reflections turned out to be a drill. Zarkon lifted the dagger not to her vitals but his free hand (the right one, she noted with detached interest). At last the assembled Drules showed signs of life. She heard the crowd suck in a collective breath, a staccato smattering of gasps punctuating it. Whatever their emperor meant to do would be talked about for weeks, maybe longer. She knew a political or social splash when she saw one. The dagger drew a line across his palm that quickly filled, then overflowed with red. Alllura blinked at the sight. No bubbling black ichor that scorched and corrupted all it touched? How could the destroyer of countless lives and worlds bleed like any other person? Zarkon extended his hand toward her, for a closer look she believed at first. When he also offered the weapon, she understood.

Take it, part of her urged. Take it and plunge it straight into his vile heart. Assuming she didn't miss, another, more practical part retorted. Or he didn't block and counterattack, like he'd probably been trained from birth to do. Hunk had shown her a few moves with a staff, but that was a far cry from spur of the moment assassination. She'd only have one chance.

Choices. The past few hours her life had been consumed by them. Her former resentments over being excluded from so many big decisions before suddenly struck her as petty and naïve. Guts writhing, Allura settled on yet another impossible decision. She reached up for the dagger. Hesitated. The skin around Zarkon's sulfurous eyes crinkled more. His lips lifted just enough to show the barest sliver of teeth. _Weak little human girl_ , he mocked her with both. _Don't have the courage to do what must be done, do you? No surprise there. Like father, like daughter._

Her hand closed around the base of the blade, clenching. The sting of her skin breaking couldn't compare with the pain life had already taught her. She glanced at Zarkon's own bloodied palm. Hidden dangers jostled for position in the forefront of her mind. Disease. Blasphemy. Enslavement. Allura recognized them for what they were: masks for her true fear. She slapped her cut hand into the one which had taken her family's lives and thanked Altarus her heaving stomach was empty. Like the petals of a carnivorous flower, Zarkon's fingers slowly closed. His skin felt surprisingly warm, not icy or slimy as she'd expected. He revealed the rest of his teeth in a wide, crocodilian grin before jerking her arm forward. Allura found herself being swung around, doe-si-doe, and jerked yet again, that time to a halt. She stared out at the sea of Drule faces, their pupils flared with the same nerve-numbing shock working through her. If not for Zarkon lifting their linked hands, pulling her up onto tiptoe, she would have collapsed.

The Galran emperor declared something in his native tongue that reverberated off the black walls of the throne room. His subjects replied with a roar that shook the floor and Allura's innards. Mind reeling, it sought the only source of stability among the chaos: Lotor. She was familiar with a scant few of his expressions. Half-lidded, smirking lust she had become all too acquainted with. Tight-lipped, V-browed rage too. Neither inhabited his face then. His lifted chin, faint smile, plus the soft, rounded shape of his shining eyes were as of yet an unidentified species of mood.

Pride, she classified it after several seconds of deliberation. Lotor was proud of her. Proud of how his new pet had performed before her masters for their amusement.

The surge of hatred that welled up from her bowels ossified everything in its path, saving her heart for last. It left her light-headed but strong, knees holding her weight when Zarkon finally released her. It gave her strength to walk steadily beside Lotor back down the central aisle while the assembled Drules continued to hail them. Carried her all the way through the halls and back to the room it had been spawned in.

Upon their return, the female Drules rose from the chairs on the opposite side, gazes expectant. Allura snatched away their unspoken question with her own voice.

“What just happened?” It came out deceptively calm.

She heard Lotor gather a deep breath. “Father made you a part of our family.”

“What does that mean for Arus and me?”

Allura didn't have to be facing him to know he flinched. Her question had bypassed his defenses of understatement and subterfuge to strike at the heart of the matter.

“Arus will be spared,” he started with, seeking to appease. “Since you're now Galran, it's part of the empire. You'll all be considered citizens.”

“So in other words, he put a legal collar and leash on me. Not that it matters. Either way he owns Arus through me and the second he gets bored or annoyed he'll crush it to watch me suffer.”

His breath rode out on a huff. “It's not that simp—”

She spun around. The pressurized emotions inside of her finally reached overload, released as tears that slid in stinging trails down her cheeks and two words that hissed from her mouth like jets of steam. “Get out.”

Lotor rose to his full height. The little dents that formed between his eyebrows gave the impression he had the gall to feel hurt. “Allura, you need to—”

“ _Get out!_ ” she screamed with such force she wondered how her vocal chords didn't snap. She grabbed the nearest items at hand—a pair of books on the room's desk—and flung each at him. “ _Get out, get out, getoutgetoutgetoutgetOUT!_ ”

Her hands clawed for anything small enough to pick up and throw: a slender vase, a clock, a wooden case with writing utensils that made the most satisfying crash as it burst against the wall. Lotor dodged each projectile, then crouched to lunge at her once she ran out of ammo.

Three figures in white appeared in a blink. The Drule women, forming a barrier between her and the prince. Ailonti, the elder, barked something that their animal instincts recognized as a command to be still. To her credit, both of them actually obeyed. She sniffed in a way that Nanny would have praised and fired a barrage of words Lotor's way. He returned in snarling kind. Ailonti's response should have had frost snapping in the air. She followed up by putting one hand on that dagger at her hip, her companions mimicking the gesture.

Silence reigned supreme for the longest minute of Allura's life.

At its end, Lotor reappeared, glowering at her over the wall of women. “I'm going to be back in a few hours,” he said with his pouting, spoiled little boy's mouth. “And then we're going to talk.” Only he could have made the prospect sound like a threat.

Allura, not able to find anything else suitable to throw, began tugging off one of her boots. With a snorted word that needed no translation to convey its disgust, the prince imperial turned on his heel, stabbed the code into the keypad, and stormed out.

Stances relaxed once more, the women glanced back at her. If they were expecting an adoring look of gratitude, Allura cocking back her arm to throw and baring her teeth surely must have been a let down. Ailonti arched a white brow, Jeyli shrugged her small shoulders, and Brinu smiled with the same sorrow present in anything she did. More important, they followed Lotor out.

Alone. At last, blessedly alone.

No, not true. Being alone she could have handled. There, in that twisted castle of monsters masquerading as men, she was surrounded. Outnumbered. Besieged. A prisoner awaiting execution.

Down she sank, knees giving way, no more bravado to prop her up. Down, down onto the carpet, clutching the boot—soft material smeared with red now—to her chest like a child's teddy bear. Lifting her right hand, she stared at the grinning slash on the palm. While the blood had slowed to a seep, her tears had just started to flow—her soul's version of bleeding.

Neither would be the last or worst wounds she sustained. She had no doubts on that. The only question left to ask was which would find her and put an end to the pain first: rescue or death.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Saffrin, now a prisoner on Arus, gets a visit from Lance. Lotor gives Allura a crash course in customs concerning Drule women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to everyone who's read, reviewed, given kudos, or bookmarked this! 
> 
> @ MadelineL: *keeps defibrillator nearby just in case*

If they meant to torture him with boredom they had a good chance of breaking him. Saffrin cracked open one eye, but nothing had changed in his cell since he'd been put there. White, clean walls. Soft light filtering in from above. The air felt pleasantly cool and dry, not chilly and damp. There were even facilities for him to relieve himself in a civilized way and to wash his hands afterward in one corner. Every bit as soft as he had heard, these Arusians. They would have probably dressed his wounds too if the crash had given him more than a collection of bruises.

Smiling a little, Saffrin shifted on the cot so generously provided for his comfort. He froze as his ears picked out another sound aside from wooden creaks and rustling fabric: the distant click of a door swinging open. Purposeful footsteps, growing closer. He started to wonder if they were coming toward him before shaking his head. Of course. What other prisoners did their castle hold? Arus had no need to keep its larders packed with political prisoners, rebels, or those who had just had the bad fortune to annoy its ruler. It hosted no games to fuel with their blood.

His logic prevailed. The steps became clearer, until their source stood on the freedom side of the cell's clear, reinforced door. Saffrin had to admit to a touch of surprise. The one who held the rank of what humans called lieutenant had come, not the captain. He didn't know whether Zeni was wearing her aspect of luck or ruin, but he found himself pleased with the turn of events regardless.

More than a Terran minute passed while they went through the mandatory ritual of sizing each other up. Saffrin took note of the tired smudges beneath the human's narrowed brown eyes and added them up with the tension coiled in his shoulders and arms. It didn't require the keen senses of an interrogator to realize the lieutenant was running mostly on rage with precious little sense to regulate it. Not that restraint was a habit the man concerned himself with much to begin with.

“You speak Terran, smurf?”

A smile crept onto Saffrin's lips. Why did so many of them believe pointing out differences in skin color was a basis for insult? It said much more about their species than it did his. Cocking his head as if still trying to distill meaning from the words, Saffrin watched the lieutenant a moment longer. Then he raised his hand, palm open, and intoned with as much gravity as he could muster, “Better than you, snowball.”

His visitor's scowl retreated with a flicker of surprise before rushing back with twice as much effort. “Looks like we caught the smart ass of the bunch.”

“Life requires a sense of humor, I find. To what do I owe this visit?”

“Gee, I dunno. Might have something to do with your douche pistol of a prince kidnapping our princess.”

Saffrin rolled his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “She's gone. Was there some part of that you're confused over?

A lazon sword couldn't have been more heated and piercing than his visitor's glare. “I'm seriously considering coming in there and choking you just to see what color you'll turn.”

“And risk me overpowering you and escaping?” He clucked his tongue. “You're impulsive, Lieutenant McClain, but you're not an idiot. At least not _all_ the time.”

The ire in his brown eyes cooled some with calculation. “So you know my name, huh?”

“Of course. And Hunk's, and Pidge's, aka Darrel. And of course Keith's. It's all on your holo cards. Even Blue Lion's former pilot Sven, who's a limited edition for obvious reasons.”

Lance's ferocity fizzled entirely, leaving his jaw somewhat slack. “Our _what?_ ”

“Holo cards. They come with certain brands of...” Saffrin paused while he chased down an equivalent Terran word. “Cigarettes. Some sexual prophylactics and other small goods too.”

During the explanation his visitor's jaw dropped further and further. “You're tickling my ass.”

“Never without permission, I assure you.  A military engineer started the cards. Apparently, inspiration struck her over an argument about how many kills Voltron had accumulated. So, being an enterprising sort, she came up with an idea for printing images and updated stats of the Empire and Supremacy's top targets. You're up to four thousand and fourteen in Red Lion, in case you weren't sure.”

“Let me get this straight. You Drules see my mug whenever you're about to light up or get freaky and I don't get any royalties? That's not even right, man.”

His response invoked a grin on Saffrin's part. Maybe he should have mentioned the even more popular vid-streams available of Voltron Force lookalikes being ravished by dominating females or large males of his species. Then again, he didn't want to chase away his guest so soon and return to boredom.

Shaking his head as if to clear away the clutter of distractions, Lance put his serious face on again. “All right. Enough with the chit-chat. What are your plans for the princess?”

Saffrin's eyebrows made a leap for his hairline. “You can't tell me you don't know.”

“I want to hear it from the horse's mouth.”

“Our plans are the same for her as they've always been: capture her alive and bring her to Korrinoth.”

Every muscle in Lance's body tensed, his fingers rolled into fists, as if bracing for pain. “And then?”

“Then she and the prince imperial will marry. Would you like the details of that outlined?”

With an impressive quickness, his visitor slammed one ready-made fist into the cell's door. Saffrin watched with an expression like a still pool. He never could understand such displays. They solved nothing and only hurt one's hand and property. Perhaps it was a human impulse, which was why Lotor indulged in it so often. In many ways, talking to Red Lion's pilot had much in common with handling the prince. Both were tempests on two legs.

“Better?” asked Saffrin once his visitor's breath had slowed from deep-chested snorts to something more civilized.

“Why did you do it?” He might have been directing the question at his red-knuckled hand, the way he stared into its open palm.

“You'll have to be more specific. There are quite a number of 'its' on my record.”

Lance's brown eyes had become smoldering coal pits in his face, contempt glinting in the ashes of his rage. “Why did you hand her over to him? How can you live with yourself knowing what he's going to do to her? Allura's never hurt a fly and you threw her to the wolves. What kind of reason could you even think up to justify that?”

For a dozen heartbeats Saffrin let the questions hang in the air like cave worm silk traps. He watched a smile poisoned with savage satisfaction sprout across his visitor's face, the silence interpreted as moral victory.

His _kuhalth_ demanded a degree of detachment. One couldn't experience certain facets of life without setting aside personal feelings from time to time. Yet as practiced as he'd become, Saffrin felt his emotions overtaking his thoughts, tearing them apart with uncompromising teeth. When he finally spoke his mind had been consumed.

“You call yourselves her comrades, but you love to keep her in the role of the victim.”

Lance's brows pinched together, outrage and bewilderment caught between them. “What in the hell is—”

“She's meant to be queen of this world. She's a pilot of Voltron with two thousand and seventy four kills to her name. Yet every time there's a decision to be made she looks to your captain, her adviser—anyone but herself. Every time our fighters made her their target, one or all of you flew to her rescue instead of letting her fight her way out.”

“Of course we protected her! She's our princess! We don't screw over our friends at the first chance we get like you Drules!”

“Your princess, yes. Your plucky little mascot whose only purpose is to give her big brothers something to save and cheer them up with her pretty smile. You make sure she never has to deal with anything upsetting. Like finding real funding to rebuild roads, housing, schools, cities. Like making deals with Pollux, the Alliance, or our own prince to recover vital tech lost during our emperor's attacks. Thanks to you, Arus is still a broken backwater with nothing but a giant Rock'em Sock'em Robot to its name, and its monarch has no idea how to lead. But that's so much better than 'selling out', yes? Or letting some Drule put his filthy blue paws on her. I'm sure as they huddle in their huts without even basic amenities there isn't an Arusian who wouldn't shake your hand and thank you for your commitment to idealism.”

“Hey, fuck you and the bat you rode in on! Arus' only problem is an eight-foot tall sack of assholes named Zarkon who keeps bombing the bejeezus out of the place! Don't even try to twist the story around to make us look like the bad guys here! And are you seriously trying to play the race card? Like we don't want Allura with Lotor just because he's a poor, misunderstood alien? Try because he's a mass murderer and rapist in pretty boy clothing. If you think you're going to guilt us into surrendering to Zarkon, go ahead and shove the thought back up your ass whence it came, pal.”

Saffin's head had started shaking before his visitor was even halfway finished. Just as dense as Lotor sometimes. With such thick skulls it was a wonder they had any room left for brains at all. “I'm appealing to your sense of practicality, which apparently is non-existent. Zarkon, Lotor, and the empire definitely are problems and threats—ones that you've refused to deal with in any real way.  Barring alliance with us, have you tried disrupting the empire's trade routes? Have you approached any of our other enemies? Did you even realize we _have_ other enemies? From the stupefied look on your face I can tell that's a no. I'd bring up the topic of assassination, but of course that's beneath valiant heroes such as yourselves. It's much more honorable to let civilians bear the price for your nobility.”

Lance's face mimicked the color of his Lion. “Kiss my ass, smurf. You've got some nerve lecturing me from behind bars. You think your evil empire is such hot shit? Well, seems to me Lotor left your sorry behind to rot here while he ran back home to Daddy. If that's what being practical gets me I'll pass.”

“I'm here because I volunteered to be. Our prince is finally starting to do what he needs to in order to stop his father. I can do no less.”

“Stop his...” The thought caused Lance's indignation to sputter a moment. Wide eyes and a slightly open mouth looked cute on him really. Bias and belief were difficult beasts to slay, however. Red Lion's pilot shook off the unfamiliar perspectives he'd been offered and returned to his standard Earth-issued ones. “Screw this,” he muttered. “I don't know why I bothered coming here anyway. Hope you like prison food, smurf. Don't drop the soap.”

Saffrin watched him storm off with as much vigor as he'd stormed in. The sight made him smile.

Lance would return. Not for days, perhaps even weeks, but he would be back. Because while the Voltron pilot might not have realized what drew him into talking, Saffrin knew. Like himself, Lance was willing to do whatever it took to see his goals through to the end. It just took more of a push. Battering against his stubborn beliefs, more like it. And the first step to that was understanding and accepting the situation—even if it meant going to an enemy for answers.

Laying back on the cot, Saffrin made himself comfortable again. He closed his eyes with a sigh, fingers brushing across his upper arm and the patch of synthskin there. It would be awhile before he could make use of the data strips hidden beneath it, but he could wait. After all, being still was just another facet of experience, along with friendship, adversity, and trickery.

 

-

 

Allura couldn't afford her despair for long before more practical matters intruded. Namely the throb of the cut on her hand and the need to relieve herself. It struck her as absurd that her body would still bother to ache, hunger, or feel at all despite the spirit animating it being crushed. But if her childhood underground had taught her anything it was that life, like the body, went on regardless of suffering. Wrenching on the remnants of her will, Allura staggered to her feet and went in search of anything resembling a bathroom.

Being that there was only one other door besides the exit and a walk-in closet, her quest didn't take long. Given the Drules' humanoid anatomy, the facilities were familiar, if built slightly larger and higher, thank goodness. No shower or tub occupied the room that she could see, but the sink she recognized. Its polished stone counter came level with her chest. She felt like a child lost in a giant's castle. Tiny and breakable. Allura shook her head as she figured out which sensor caused warm water to pour from the faucet. She couldn't start thinking like that. Enough enemies existed around her without turning her own mind into one too. If she was going to escape or at least survive until rescued she needed to stay focused on opportunities. Staring down at the fiercely stinging cut across her palm while the water ran over it, she wondered.

Why spare her life? Lotor's reasoning, as twisted as it was, she could follow: he wanted her. Zarkon, on the other hand, had already put an end to her immediate family, including the little brother not yet out of diapers. Why keep her alive? As almost delirious with terror as she'd been, his comment about waiting to see something hadn't been lost on her. Maybe he just found it amusing that his son should wed the girl he'd failed to murder all those years ago. She certainly didn't see how her life benefited him from a political angle.

Whatever the reason, she would make sure he came to regret the decision.

Finding a pair of shears in one of the sink's drawers, Allura used them to cut a strip from a drying cloth. It didn't make a great bandage, spongy as it was, but it would have to do. Feeling at least partially herself again, she left the restroom.

And stopped dead when she saw time was up already.

 

-

 

Lotor felt a few of the lines that had embedded themselves in his brow ease away at the sight of Allura. True, thoughts of her had caused most of them, but her presence had a different effect. She startled and froze when she spotted him sitting on one of the suite's chairs.

He finally had Allura. She was really there, in his home, every beautiful, angry, unwilling bit of her. A few paces would cross the distance between them. Allow him to bury his hands in her gold hair. Taste her lips. Not to mention hear her sweet voice call him every foul name she knew while she fought like a panicked animal. He held in a sigh. Maybe Allura hadn't been the only one living in a fantasy.

“I brought something for your hand,” Lotor said, lifting a med-kit from his lap like a peace offering.

She glanced down at the scrap of fabric already binding her hand. That she'd had the presence of mind to see to it instead of wasting the whole time weeping revived his spirits some. The stubborn set of her jaw when she raised her head again wasn't so encouraging.

“I'm _fine._ ” Her tone turned the word into an accusation.

Lotor girded his mind for a fight and waded in. “You aren't going to get any points for martyrdom here, Allura. Take something for the pain and let me cover it properly. The last thing you want is an infection. Which reminds me, you'll need a round of vaccinations as soon as possible.”

Her eyes blazed at him like the blue hearts of twin flames. Lotor expected a retort about how she'd rather die of disease, or something equally dramatic, but her mouth remained sealed. The sort of elongated dimples in her cheeks told him her teeth had hold of them from inside. He resisted another sigh.

“I can't bandage your hand if you're halfway across the room, you know.”

“I can do it myself.” Her lips barely parted to let the words slip past, turning her voice into a monotone.

Anger nipped at his belly, tightening it in response. The lid of the med-kit creaked under the pressure of his grip. “I'm trying to be nice, but you're making the effort into a losing battle.”

“You and your _effort,_ ” Allura replied in a hiss, “can go to hell for all I care. The reason my hand is injured, the reason I'm here in this godforsaken place, is _you._ You must really be crazy to think I'd let you touch me for any reason, _nice_ or no.”

And he did want to touch her, he realized. It reined in his sarcastic response, clearing enough space within the haze of outrage to think. He had no other reason to bandage Allura's hand than to feel the warm reality of her. Like he needed reassurance that was actually there, actually his at last. Well, physically. The mental and emotional parts, he was just beginning to grasp, would be a long time coming. In that, she'd had a point too: no single gesture would win her over. He didn't like it—didn't have to—but that didn't matter next to whether he understood.

Lotor set the med-kit down on the small table between the chairs before leaning back and waiting, expression as neutral as the bitter taste of rejection would allow.

The way Allura's eyes flared before contracting to a suspicious squint took some of the sting out of his decision. His surrender had gotten through her guards for a moment. He filed the tidbit away for future use.

“Take it,” he said, tone releasing a portion of its grudge. “You don't need me to see to your hand. What's important is that it's taken care of.”

Something scathing crouched on her tongue, judging from the way her lips curled into a dainty sneer. The air crackled with the possibility of an all out verbal storm...then subsided into sullen resignation as she strode forward and snatched the kit off the table. Lotor kept his mouth shut while she went to sit on the bed of all places. It did twitch with a buried smile when he saw she had to hop to do it. He watched her rummage through the container from the corner of his eye. She didn't seem to have any real goal other than pulling all the contents out and grumbling. Sarcastic suggestions clogged his throat like hiccups. This whole getting what he wanted business wasn't shaping up how he'd envisioned it. Not at all.

“Your father doesn't have any diseases I should be worried over, does he?”

If she deigned to start a conversation with him it couldn't be that hopeless. “Father is fit as fit can be, I'm sad to report,” he answered. “I haven't seen him catch so much as a cold in years. I wouldn't have allowed you to go through with the ceremony if he'd been carrying something anyway.”

“Any other barbaric customs I should know about while we're on the subject? Eating of prisoners' still beating hearts? After dinner orgies?”

Lotor's brows arched. So she did have an imagination somewhere under that proper princess persona. “Public orgies passed out of fashion a good bit ago. Too much shifting into fights over coveted partners, or so I've read. You can still find ritual cannibalism in some nations among the Supremacy, though it's actually a rather formal, reserved affair to the warrior _kuhalths_. But yes, there is one custom of immediate importance you need to know about.”

Under Allura's suspicious glare he unclasped his mother's _sahj_ from his own belt. He held it out to her, handle first.

“Wear this at all times, or have it within reach. In the bath chamber, the restroom, next to you while asleep—always. It marks you as a free citizen of the empire, aside from its more practical uses.”

From the first hint of movement in her face, Lotor knew he would be in for a fight. She turned away from him again, nose tilted in the air, dismissive.

“I won't be needing it.”

Arguments swarmed in his mind. He swatted them aside, Staring at Allura, the pouting jut of her lips in profile, the rigid set of her shoulders, he knew logic wouldn't prevail over emotion in this case. Her old ways of thinking hadn't lost their grip, not yet. She still believed if she just stamped her foot enough everyone else would rearrange reality to accommodate her. Still believed she was the sun around which her adoring planet revolved, instead of a tiny, flickering flame sheltered only by him against an entire palace full of people ready to snuff her light.

Not for the first and definitely not the last, Lotor cursed Hagger even as he realized how much he owed her.

“Very well,” he said, lowering the _sahj_ to his side. “Have it your way.”

He lunged, two bounds bringing him to his target.

 

-

 

Allura barely had time for a proper gasp before Lotor's weight slammed into her. The remainder of her air whooshed from her lungs, her back pressed flat into the mattress. She brought her arms up to scratch at his face to no avail. He captured one wrist, then the other, shackling both in one of his larger hands. She went completely still as the other brought the flat of the dagger against her cheek. It felt every bit as cold as the lump of terror in her belly.

“You appear to be having some difficulty understanding,” Lotor said, the words flowing out with deadly calm and carrying the faint tang of wine. “Allow me to clarify the subject.

“Women are the only ones allowed to carry a weapon at all times. Namely this one, called a _sahj_. They can take it into courts, private homes, even have it in the presence of royalty.”

 Allura's heart skipped two beats to match him tapping the blade against her face as many times.

“It's also one of the reasons rape is uncommon among Drule citizens. As soon as she can walk, a girl is taught to wield a dagger, among other practical skills. Of course, it's a much different story with slave and tributary populations. Allow me to demonstrate.”

She choked on a whimper when the dagger slid down her cheek, slipped between her breasts, and stopped at her belly. Horror dug ragged talons into her heart as the weapon's tip pressed against her. He was going to murder her. Gut her like a fish, her blood and entrails allowed to spill out and soak the bedding crimson—

Fabric, not flesh, tore. The blade ripped up through the fastenings of her Drule finery and cool air touched Allura's skin from neck to stomach. Taking advantage of her shock, Lotor wedged one knee between her thighs, prizing them open. The horror raked down into her bowels, shredding them. This was it then. Her dignity would be killed before the rest of her. Maybe she could thrust herself up onto the dagger—to wound more than commit suicide, though death was preferable to violation. Even Lotor couldn't think of ravaging her if she was cut and bleeding. Then again, maybe she was too quick to give him credit…

For once, he defied her worst expectations. Lowering his head, white hair tickling her face and neck, Lotor spoke into her ear. “You will wear this dagger, Princess. You'll learn to _want_ to. Because if you don't, you're going to find yourself the one being stabbed, whether with flesh, metal, or both.”

Allura's muscles had frozen too solid for her to react when he raised his arm and brought the weapon in question plunging into the pillows a whisper away from the side of her head. Without another word, Lotor rolled off the bed with his back turned toward her.

“Your lessons begin tomorrow,” he continued, smoothing his uniform down. “Language, combat, culture, everything you need to survive. I strongly suggest you put all your energy into learning. Knowledge is the deadliest weapon in any arsenal and you're at the bottom of the class.”

He left her with that cheery thought. Minutes passed before Allura finally moved. Rolling onto her side, she clutched together the ruined bodice of her clothing with one hand as best she could, then waited for the tears to come. It took a little while before she realized none were going to show up. A good thing, she decided. No pity or compassion would grow from crying on Doom, just as no flowers would take root in its dead soil.

When sleep drew its mantle over her at last, her other hand remained curled securely around the handle of the dagger.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Nanny bond over their loss and start discussing plans on what to do about it. Allura wakes with fresh determination and learns her education will begin that morning...in Lotor's harem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I stuck my replies to your comments at the end of the chapter this time because they ran long. So whether you'd like to scroll down and read those first or jump straight into the new chapter it's there. :)
> 
> Thank you to IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, seekingserenity, MrsKohakuSato, tisifone21, CrimsonClover, TiffanyBlue, DifferentDances, I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, MadelineL, Lightning_Strike, spaceChai, Erisethx, Andelevion, MalevoLiss, Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, Lpsfan100, DinG_dOnG_bEacH, Eliza Jane, yeet-on-them-haters, and everyone who's read, given kudos, or bookmarked this fic!

It was the dead of night before Keith slunk out of his quarters. The last thing he needed was to run into someone, anyone, in the hallways, so he kept a sharp ear out and peered around every corner prior to proceeding. Several stealthy minutes saw him to his objective. He entered the castle kitchens as silent as a thief.

He forwent the lights. Instead, one hand skimmed along the edges of the polished stone counters, touch and memory his guides. When his mental image told him he’d arrived in front of the appropriate cupboard, Keith stopped. Hesitated.

Might as well. He couldn’t sink any lower.

The cupboard door opened on noiseless hinges. His questing hand found the smooth shape of the cooking wine bottle first thing, like it had been expecting him. Taking it down, he unscrewed the cap, put the opening to his lips, and allowed himself a grimace. All his training reduced to this. Sneaking around in the dark like a teen breaking into his dad’s liquor cabinet.

The first swig bathed his throat in sour fire. Fumes leaked from his nostrils, tears from his eyes. At only about five percent APV, the wine wouldn’t dull his senses. On the contrary. He hoped the harsh taste would hone his sense to a flaying-edge sharpness. Then he could move on to the second phase of his punishment. Keith took another scorching gulp.

Light pierced his eyelids, and it wasn’t thanks to the kick from the lukewarm alcohol. His head snapped toward the direction of the kitchen doorway.

Nanny stared back, just as speechless. Her gaze shot to the bottle in his hand, and her mouth clamped shut. In three strides she crossed the floor. One swipe wrested the wine from Keith’s grip. Another, as quick as any move ever made in his family’s dojo, had her palm colliding with his cheek.

“ _Coward_! You’ve no right!”

A second, resounding slap before the pain from the first had receded.

“How dare you try to forget what your failure cost Arus today! Honorless bastard! You’ve no right to hide! To _live!_ ”

She had it backwards. He had no intention of forgetting. Not at all. Hiding…that was up for debate. As for living, he could deal with that one _after_ he cleaned up the cluster fuck he’d initiated. If he died while trying, well, that would be that, wouldn’t it? But a third strike from Nanny granted him access to a level of pain that he found too sublime to pass up. Correcting her could wait.

Her arm swung back, primed for another blow. Her whole body quaked, ready to smite him for his sins. An avenging angel. Her accusing eyes blazed brighter than any fiery sword. All Keith could do was let a couple of pathetic tears of gratitude slide down his face before judgement fell.

A strange hitch interrupted the tremor in Nanny’s limbs. Slowly as a feather drifting down, her arm lowered to her side again. The righteous fury in her eyes guttered, doused and replaced by a wet sheen. The next thing to hit him was her weight as she barreled into his chest, pinning his arms with a bear hug.

“Forgive me,” she hiccoughed. “Forgive an old woman sick with grief.”

“No…” His disoriented mind spurred into a clearer trail of thought as Nanny heaved a great sob, misunderstanding. “No, it’s not you’re fault. It’s mine. I took a vow to protect her. I should have given my life to see that through…”

“Do you think the rest of us haven’t been telling ourselves the same thing? Do you know how many times I wished I’d protested more fiercely against Allura becoming a pilot? How many times I cursed myself for _not_ allowing her to train as a fighter even sooner, so maybe she could have escaped? Or all the hours I wasted wishing someone had kicked Lotor’s mother in the belly when he was still festering inside of her? I wish…I wish…” She jerked back, teeth gritted, and looked at the cooking wine she still held. “Ach, to hell with wishing! The worst has happened and we have no choice but to face it. But at least we can brace ourselves with something better than this swill!”

After recapping the bottle and returning it to its rightful place, Nanny hustled a bewildered Keith into the dining room. He didn’t resist being shoved into a chair. The governess disappeared back into the kitchen for a minute, her clucking and grumbling drifting out. She finally reappeared with a stout, unlabeled bottle of gold liquid, along with two small glasses. One she set in front of Keith, the other going to her across the way. She poured them both a double as meticulously as any bartender.

“To regrets.” She lifted her glass, grim lines entrenched along either side of her mouth.

Feeling like the butt of some prank-pulling vid stream, Keith clinked his drink against hers. She promptly knocked her portion back like the best of accomplished outlaws while he took an exploratory sip. If his sense of humor hadn’t already bled out and started to rot, he might have laughed. Whatever the stuff was it had a good burn on the way down. Keith opened his throat and welcomed the rest into his guts. A second drink was poured as soon as his empty glass touched the table.

“Locally made?” he asked, just to relieve the pressure of silence against his ear drums.

Her lips slid into a half smile. “My time as reigning maven of the court may be long past, but I still have connections.”

They drank without further comment for several minutes, until the censoring hurdles in Keith’s brain toppled over.

“What do we do now?” was the first thought to come trotting from the unguarded gate of his mouth. “Just what the hell do we _do?_ ”

Any loitering doubts about asking an old governess for tactical advice fled from Nanny’s stare. Her brown eyes held more grit than a decorated Garrison general’s. More cold calculation than a sniper’s with a target in her scope. “We survive, my boy. That’s the first step. We bide our time. Lotor has what he wants.” Another shocking first rocked Keith’s conceptions as she spat—into an embroidered dinner napkin, but _still._ “Zarkon is another matter. As long as he can be convinced not to annihilate Arus we have a chance. But we must be prepared to surrender anything in exchange: Voltron, slaves, farmland, our dignity. We must because we have little choice. Being debased won’t stop us from being able to watch and wait, though. And when chances come—small ones at first, to be sure—we will use them to chip away at the bastard. He won’t notice the termites chewing on the foundations of his kingdom until his palace comes crashing down, given time.” She sank down in her chair, eyes dimmed with the haunted stare of a mother whose child never came home that night. “First thing’s first, though. We must survive. _She_ must survive.”

Yes, thought Keith, unable to stop himself—the downside to the alcohol. And one question above all others came attached to that condition: Even if Allura made it through captivity on Doom alive, how much of her spirit would be dead?

 

-

 

At first, Allura figured she’d woken up in the middle of the night. No sunlight slanted in from the drapes, so it couldn’t be morning yet. Yawning, she stretched before rolling over and curling back up. Sleep, however, refused to rejoin her. A host of uneasy little thoughts kept nudging her. The sheets slid too smoothly against her skin, the blanket lay too heavy. More important was that solid thing jutting into her ribs, preventing her from getting comfortable. With a grumble, Allura conceded to the pestering thoughts. She cracked her eyes open, an elbow propped beneath her.

“Computer, turn the lights on to dim.”

Illumination followed, within and without. This wasn’t her room. This wasn’t even Arus.

Doom.

Lotor.

She glanced down at the mattress. The dagger she’d been forced to accept had somehow gotten wedged halfway under her torso while she’d slept. Luckily, it hadn’t escaped its sheath.

“ _Shit._ ” Allura didn’t flinch at her own lapse in breeding. Given the situation, she could be forgiven a little crudeness.

What did she do now? An answer stepped from the ranks of her memories with alacrity: Follow Keith’s training on being imprisoned. She swallowed the choking lump in her throat as his voice reached out to her.

_Take stock of your physical status. Are you injured or bleeding?_

Allura looked at her hand. No red had seeped through or around the edges of the dressing. The cut stung a little when she tried to curl her fingers into a fist. Every muscle in the rest of her body lodged a complaint as she moved—a lingering effect of being shot by a stun blast. Overall, minimal damage. Count one blessing.

_Examine your surroundings. How many doors are there? Windows? Vents? Are there any cracks in the walls? Floor? Ceiling? What materials are they made of? Are there any fixtures? No detail is too small._

She doubted she’d be breaking down any of the above, but she took stock anyway. Three doors total: one entrance/exit, one to the bathroom, one to what she assumed to be a closet. A single large window covered by heavy drapes that she’d already looked at; it had no latches or other means to open it she could discern. Even if it had, Allura doubted she could find enough fabric to tie into a rope capable of reaching the jagged, broken landscape some thirty stories below. A point that led into Keith’s third bit of advice.

_What resources do you have available? The farther outside the box you can think, the better your chances of escape. Start with any physical items. And I mean any—a piece of trash could be turned into a weapon, or, disgusting as it may sound, so can organic waste. Consider advantages that aren’t so obvious either. Mobility is a big plus. So is having partial or full access to your five senses. Figure out how to measure time, if you can, and track things like meal times, guard rotation, any predictable event. Recognizing and exploiting opportunities is the difference between being a victim and becoming a survivor._

Well, she had a dagger. That probably put her at the top of the heap among Doom’s prisoners. Allura tested the blade’s edges with her thumb. Definitely not a show piece. Maybe Lotor had been telling the truth about Drule women carrying a weapon everywhere. Her recollections of Ailonti, Jeyli, and Brinu lent credibility to the idea, although it kept bumping up against her preconceived ones. Armed and dangerous was the last description Allura would have applied to female Drules—not that she blamed them, considering where they lived. Speaking of the three women, Allura tentatively added them to her list of assets. At least they’d stepped in to defend her from Lotor earlier. Most likely for their own reasons, but the enemy of her enemy and all that. Not to mention the satisfaction of seeing the prince imperial taken down a notch went a long way in endearing the trio to her. While they’d probably refuse to aid Allura’s escape they had potential as a mine of information.

Giving a little jump, Allura realized she’d discovered another informant close at hand.

“Computer, are you there?”

“I am ready to assist you, Princess,” replied the pleasant, modulated female voice. Except for a hint of unidentified accent, it didn’t differ much from the AI back home.

Possibilities mobbed Allura’s mind. Best to start simple. “What time is it—at the Castle of Lions on Arus, I mean.”

“It is currently forty-two minutes past six in the morning there.”

No wonder she’d woken up. Tears swelled in her eyes. She might have watched the sun rise from her balcony, had some morning tea, or been feeding the castle mice right then, if only…

Her next question came out half-choked. “What time does that translate to here?”

“Korrinoth’s daily cycle is approximately ten hours longer than Arus’. Currently, it is behind, with roughly five hours and ten minutes until dawn at your present location. Shall I give you the numerical time as well?”

“No, thank you.” She could save specifics of Doom timekeeping for later. Or never. “Computer…can you establish comm links or send messages?”

“Yes. Who would you like to contact?”

“Castle Control, Coran Raible, on Arus?” She held her breath.

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m unable to connect you beyond Korrinoth at this time.”

Allura gave a long exhale, posture wilting. “Figures…Does that mean I can contact someone within this location then?”

“Certainly, Princess. Who would you like to reach?”

“Um…is there a list of available contacts?”

“Yes. I can put you through to His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Zarkon, His Imperial Highness, Prince Lotor, Lady Haggar, Commander Cossack of the Security Department, the main kitchen, the medical wing, or house services. I can also call anyone or anywhere you know by name.”

For a surreal second the urge to prank call Doom’s elite threatened to override Allura’s survival instincts. _Hi, Zarkon? Do you happen to be acquainted with one Lady Ivana Tinkle? No? What about His Lordship Seymour Butts?_ Lance would have applauded.

“Hold off on that, Computer.” The madcap whim had receded to make way for a more viable one.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she got up, dagger in hand. The closet, she found, slid open with a soft, pneumatic sigh at her approach. Rows of clothing, all grouped by color, hung in two rows that went back almost as far as the room did. Allura could tell she’d need some help on this job.

“Computer, what significance does the color blue have in Drule culture?” Might as well start with the closest block and work her way down.

“It depends on the nation, but generally speaking, blue is often seen as symbolizing unity, wholeness, community, and harmony.”

None of that for her today. “How about black?”

“Generally, black is associated with discipline, strength, logic, fortitude, and authority.”

Hmm…not bad. It needed a little extra splash, though. Besides, black tended to make her look washed out. “What about red, Computer?”

“Red is often seen as the color of royalty, blood ties, challenge, rivalry, revolution, chaos, and commitment to a cause.”

She had a winner.

Beginning to rifle through the selections, Allura noticed a couple that resembled the coat-gown hybrid she’d worn into the throne room. A wide selection of shirts and pants in an array of cuts and lengths had also been provided. What any of them might mean she could only guess and she didn’t have the reserve of patience needed to go over each possibility with the AI. She chose a crimson coat-thing of a shorter, slimmer design, black shirt with a high collar, and pants that matched the coat’s hue with loose, flaring legs. Toward the back of the closet she discovered drawers full of undergarments—mundane and utilitarian, Altarus be thanked for small favors. Shoes had been lined up on a rack across the way. She chose flat, black slippers.

Everything fit like it had been tailored to her. Allura decided to forgo thinking too closely about it. Instead, she put the energy into working out how to adjust the dagger’s delicate chain around her hips. She had nearly finished pinning up her hair when she addressed the AI again.

“Computer, please inform Prince Lotor that I’m awake and ready to speak to him now.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

Because why should she pace a rut in the floor while waiting for him to breeze along? Maybe it was the reassuring weight of the dagger against her leg, but she was done playing the dutiful captive.

A tinkling chime sounded near the door only a few minutes later.

“Prince Lotor to see you, Princess,” announced the ever-helpful computer.

Well, that was quick. “Let him in.”

She only had an instant to wonder whether the door would have opened at her command so freely earlier before Lotor’s large frame blocked any escape. Rather than the bedhead and pajamas his hasty arrival suggested, he was groomed and dressed in his usual uniform. His face lost its neutrality to a quirk of the lips as he took in the sight of her sitting at her primmest in one of the chairs to receive him. He gave a slight nod, noticing she’d worn the dagger.

“Already taking fashion advice from Father? How darling.”

Great Altarus, she and the old pirate _would_ match. Allura kept the sting of the realization out of her expression through a heroic effort. “You’re full of charm this pre-morning.”

“Most Drules don’t adhere to a Terran eight hour sleep schedule. A bit of it comes from natural rhythms, but centuries of interstellar travel and military training has a lot to do with the way we break up our rest into shorter intervals. And anyway, I told Iduna to notify me when you woke up.”

A wave of cold contracted Allura’s skin at the thought of some stranger looming over her as she slept. “Who?”

Lotor swept his hand around in a circular motion. “The castle’s AI.”

Her pulse slowed to a cantor. “Oh.” Another spur of adrenaline kicked it into flight as a new thought sprang from the shadows. “It better have only told you—not shown.”

He had the nerve to stiffen and let a corner of his lip twitch into a fleeting sneer. “Please. I would never stoop to leering at the sight of you undressing or bathing via a vidcast.”

“Right. How presumptuous of me.”

“Absolutely. That would be cheating. When I win you over, it will be fair and square, as the expression goes.” The sneer had progressed to a smirk.

“If I’m going to have to put up with you this early, I need breakfast. Unless you Drules have evolved past the need for that too?”

Lotor shrugged. “Just tell Iduna you’re hungry or have her put you through to the kitchen directly. Most of the staff are multilingual. However, I can’t guarantee they’ll have familiar Arusian ingredients stocked.”

“Why not? You’ve been taking everything from us for years.” She marked down yet another personal failure the moment it sped from her mouth. Unless she wised up he’d keep wriggling beneath her dignity’s defenses without much effort.

From the breadth of his smile, he had a sense of the score too. “Yes, but there hasn’t been much left to steal until recently. Hence the shortage. I’m sure something else to your liking will be found in the pantries, though.” Lotor glanced up, as anyone who dealt with AIs tended to do. “Iduna, tell the kitchen staff to have a meal for the Princess and I sent to her quarters.”

“Gladly, Imperial Highness.”

He nodded at the chair across from her. “May I?”

With another peevish remark crouched on her tongue, Allura only trusted herself with a shrug. She hoped the way she turned her gaze to the wall translated to bored indifference as he sat.

“I may as well tell you about the general schedule throughout the castle,” Lotor said, settling his long frame into the chair. “The days on Korrinoth are about ten Arusian hours longer and will take getting used to.”

“Mm.” Letting her eyes glaze over came easily, as it turned out; listening to him had the same droning, lulling quality as sitting through one of Coran or Nanny’s lectures on proper behavior. Not that she wouldn’t give her right arm to be sitting through one of those in her own room right then.

“Unless there’s a high priority matter to attend to, the nobility typically spend the first four hours of the day on grooming, eating a meal, physical training or academic study, contemplation, or another solitary pastime,” Lotor continued, undaunted by her minimalist responses. “You already got the first checkbox out of the way, the second is forthcoming, so after that I’ll go ahead and escort you to my harem for the start of the third.”

The last words came crashing through her bored complacency like a wrecking ball. Allura launched out of her chair, goggling down at him. “Your _what?_ ”

“My harem. To begin your training.” He said it with all the blandness of a secretary reciting a list of appointments. “The women there will teach you all you need to know to prepare for your new life here.”

“No.” She had endured being shot and kidnapped. She had come face-to-face with her father’s killer without flinching. She had accepted the necessity of observing a few Drule cultural customs. Selling _favors_ for survival, however, marked the line in the sand.

“No,” Allura repeated, fingers curled into claws, ready to strike. “I’ll die before becoming your…your _plaything_. I will scream, bite, scratch, bite, bash my skull against walls—anything to deny you the sick pleasure. I’ll…I’ll…” Her moral outrage chugged to a halt as she became aware of the reaction it had provoked.

Lotor’s whole body quivered. Splotches of darker blue stained his cheeks. His lips squirmed as if fighting against some living thing trapped behind them. Every other exhale happened in a series of stuttering snorts. Allura’s skin flashed hot even under a layer of cold sweat.

“Are…are you _laughing at me?_ ”

The way the prince imperial doubled over, clutching his stomach while he howled affirmed he most definitely was.

“You…you…” Though Allura’s hand shook, her grip on the dagger’s hilt was firm. Cosmos only knew what she might have done if the AI hadn’t intervened.

“Representatives from the kitchen have arrived.”

“Let…them…in,” gasped Lotor, wiping his streaming eyes with the backs of his gloved hands.

The “representatives”, two Drule males Allura guessed to be still adolescents from their smaller stature and softer features, wheeled a cart bearing covered trays in. Both wore neatly pressed, royal blue uniforms. Their indigo hair had been washed, combed. Allura supposed it possible they were slaves, kept clean because of duties around food…but not likely. Sparing mere glances at their still giggling prince, they transferred the trays onto the table with as much fussing as efficiency. One asked Lotor something in Drule, hands nervously wrestling each other all the while. The answer, though short, sounded polite—again Allura recognized _hala_ for _please_. The young man quickly set up two glasses from the second level of the cart and filled each with water from a chilled carafe. For a second, his yellow eyes met her blue ones, exchanging open curiosity. They darted away just as fast, the boy’s face breaking out in a blush before he turned away.

Drule women, now teenagers trying hard to make an impression at their first job. A bud of compassion bloomed in Allura’s heart at the same time its thorny vines twined around her conscience. She’d never spared a thought about Doom’s ordinary citizens. Never considered whether they even _existed_ , actually. The Drules had always been just that: a homogenous blue mass of enemies, headed by a few evil masterminds. The reality, that any community, especially something as large as an empire, had to have a variety of people running it, had been strictly reserved for those on her side. Arus had suffered a long, brutal relationship with the Galra Empire despite many lightyears of distance between them. But that had to be an inconvenience compared to the horrors its own subjects had endured at home. In that light, perhaps meeting the women trapped in Lotor’s harem could set the groundwork for recruiting allies.

“You’re going to pay for this,” Allura told him once the serving staff had bowed and left. She unmasked the plate in front of her with a yank. Refusing to eat had crossed her mind, but along with the shift in perspective had come a rumbling stomach. Hunger strikes could wait.

“For which? The food, or sending you to my harem?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Come now, Allura. It won’t be so bad.” He picked up his utensils—totally different from her fork and spoon. They consisted of a slender spike slipped onto the index finger by means of a ring, and what appeared to be a simple metal straw. “You seemed to be getting along with a few of its members several hours ago. They were going to stab me on your behalf even.”

Allura froze partway in the process of spearing what looked to be a piece of buttered root vegetable.

A grin sprawled across his damnable face. “Ailonti has consented to see to your training in hand-to-hand and eventually armed combat. She and the other women of _Inulkai Kuhalth_ will also help you with the language and answer any questions you have about customs or history. Just like they did for Romelle.”

Would fury give her the speed she needed to lunge and drive her fork through his mirthful, mocking stare? “You… _you…!_ ”

“Maybe I ought to have them teach you how to swear too. Cute these tantrums may be, but your negotiating skills would benefit much more from an adult vocabulary.”

“ _Go fuck yourself._ ”

Not another word was spoken during the meal. Her stewing silence and his victorious smile said enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are those replies to previous comments!
> 
>  
> 
> @ MadelineL: Glad you really liked the chapter! In his way, Lotor is trying to help Allura, true, though it's still a pretty effed up situation all around. I realize not everyone would be happy with this amount of conflict and dark moral areas in their pairings, so it's great to hear you're not discouraged by it. And there will definitely be more Saffrin and Lance moments to come from which hijinks will ensue. 
> 
>  
> 
> @ CrimsonClover: Good to hear you're liking Saffrin! OCs are often risky since they can quickly become annoying or take away development from the canon characters, so I'm hoping mine add to the story rather than subtract. And there will definitely be more Saffrin and Lance moments from which hijinks will ensue.
> 
>  
> 
> I am trying to be realistic as far as mundane, world-building details go with the thoughts of diseases and economy. I'm more experienced writing fantasy than sci-fi, but I think many of the basic principles are the same. Just more science/tech than magic? Anyway, I don't want to overlook those things in favor of just focusing on the pairing and characters. I want the environment to be part of the story too, if that makes any sense at all.
> 
>  
> 
> As far as Lotor's hurt feelings go...yeah. Haggar has a talk with him about that and his own unrealistic expectations a couple of chapters down the line. Lotor and Allura have more in common than anyone thinks really. And about as much growing to do.
> 
>  
> 
> In regards to the daggers/sahj tradition for women, it came from my desire have Drule culture be something a little more than a Gor-like fantasy where women are second-class citizens or victims. Your question about them needing weapons at all is an excellent one and is helping me further develop the idea. I do plan on explaning more about it through Allura's experiences and lessons, especially as she gets to know the Drule women in the story better, but I can give you a brief-ish idea of what I'm going for so far. 
> 
>  
> 
> Basically, somewhere in Drule history women successfully won the right to go everywhere armed for a variety of reasons. Partly religious based reasons--their deity of birth and death is depicted as female, so there's a deep-seated belief (and maybe subconscious fear) that women are both creators and destroyers of life. But also because it was argued that since women are usually physically smaller than men having a dagger at all times would serve as an equalizer. It gave rise to another law about how if a woman is assaulted and manages to at least cut/stab her assailant that's pretty much an automatic guilty conviction. Drule women had enough cultural clout and political savvy (not to mention the will to defend their rights through violence) to keep these laws in the books over the centuries. 
> 
>  
> 
> That doesn't mean Drule women are never attacked or abused or exploited. Because of course not all of them are good fighters, aggressive, or have received/kept up on adequate training. There have also been cases of them cutting people just to remove rivals or otherwise spite someone, so they aren't above abusing power anymore than men are. It also raises the point that Drule men and boys have no equivilent protections from sexual misconduct and there are those who believe the sahj custom should be done away with in modern times. And, as Lotor said, non-Drule citizens have no legal protections either. So what's actually reported doesn't always reflect what's going on. Drule males would be unlikely to report an assault for various reasons, non-Drules have no way to, and similarly, Drule women who successfully deterred an attacker would be likely to dismiss the matter as handled.
> 
>  
> 
> So, maybe a clearer statement would be that females being seen as victims of rape by males isn't as common in Drule society as it is in some human ones? But sexual violence, tension in gender relations, and abuse of power definitely still exists even if it takes forms humans aren't familiar with.
> 
> In chapter 17 we get into some of Zarkon's reasons for not killing Allura and what that whole bloody handshake thing might have meant for her and Arus. 
> 
> Last but not least, you're totally welcome. I'm always happy to answer questions, especially if I can ramble about details. As you can likely tell from the wall of text above, hahaha!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura gets her first taste of sparring practice, Drule-style. She finds the lumps she earns there don't hurt nearly as much as an account of her shortcomings as a leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to all of you who've read, reviewed, kudoed, or bookmarked!
> 
>  
> 
> @ MadelineL: It's going to take a good while and lots of smaller shouting matches for Allura and Lotor to hash things out and get anywhere near on the same page. The end of this chapter is one such example, ha. Allura should have some pretty good questions for Lotor coming up soon which he's going to like about as much as she has his.
> 
> @ CrimsonClover: Nanny is as tough as she is proper, yup, yup, yup! There's a story idea filed away regarding how she became governess to Allura. Someday...
> 
>  
> 
> Lotor definitely got a kick out of baiting her with the harem comment, mwaha. I definitely want her to learn more about Drules as a people rather than seeing them as an enemy horde. Same thing with Saffrin being on Arus--the Voltron Force gets to interact with a Drule not trying to kill them, just as Saffrin gets to learn about them. Maybe we can't all just get along, not all the time, but sometimes with better understanding people can find solutions with less destructive consequences. I guess that's one of the major themes in this fic, and one of the biggest ways Allura (and Lotor too) grows as a character. 
> 
> I guess it would have been way easier to write a smutty romance fic, but I just have to make everything complicated. :P

The door resembled any other on that floor Allura had passed. Made of a polished, blackened alloy, it reflected a watery impression of her small figure next to Lotor’s towering mass. As if either needed a reminder of the power balance.

“I’ll be back in a few hours and we’ll have some lunch,” he told her. “Ailonti and the others will take good care of you.”

Like a parent escorting a reluctant child to her first day of school, Lotor gave her a little push through the door when it slid open. “Play nice,” were his parting words before the barrier cut them off from each other with a soft, final click.

Allura turned to face the room. Every lesson Nanny or Coran had drilled into her on making first impressions marched through her mind in orderly fashion. Shoulders straight, no slouching. Chin up. When entering, start your gaze at the left side and sweep to the right steadily; don’t linger on any one person or object.

Women were the first things she saw. At least two dozen populated the vaulted chamber like exotic birds in an aviary. Over half had skin in some variation of blue, but Allura also spied human shades of brown mixed in, as well as her own peach tone. The realization that none of them were showing an excessive amount of it, whatever the color, extracted a shard of fear from her heart. Three examples from the latter two categories met her stare squarely from their table by the left wall. Plates of half finished food lay in front of each. The trio looked no older than Allura by a few years, but their demeanor carried the burden of experience borne by battle veterans. One, with caramel skin and black hair bound in a neat braid, offered her a small nod. Allura followed remembered protocol and returned it in kind.

Several yards to the right, two Drule women sat in high-backed chairs facing each other, oblivious to the room’s new guest. Both had long-necked instruments resting in lap and hand. The elder woman (who might have even qualified for elderly, as far as Allura could reckon) instructed her younger pupil in how to tune the strings. Or thin metal bands rather—which explained the ornamental thimbles they wore on their fingers. Of course, the strange scythe blade that made up the body of the instrument might have required those too.

Dominating the center, all furniture cleared to accommodate them, the majority of the harem’s denizens sat in a circle on the rose-colored carpet. Clad in breathable black outfits, they stretched out one leg, then the other under the direction of Ailonti. Allura experienced another spurt of homesickness, remembering her short-lived training sessions with the guys. She didn’t have long to pine before Ailonti noticed her presence. The stern-faced Drule woman summoned her to the circle with a crook of the hand. After a few hesitant steps, Allura made her way over. The women ceased their efforts and got to their feet with the alacrity of those greeting a surprise visit from a long-lost friend. Those in front stepped aside, inviting her within. Curiosity or cool indifference made up the consensus among the faces and eyes that followed her passage. It didn’t stop a trickle of sweat from slithering down Allura’s back as they closed up behind her.

“Welcome, Princess,” Ailonti said, touching two fingers over her heart. “We are ready to begin.”

“Begin? Begin what exactly, if I may ask?” Her voice would have cracked without ingrained formality to keep it glued together.

The other woman’s lips tightened into a smile that looked anything but amused. “Ah, Lotor did not say to you. He did not say many things he should have, I think. We are ready to begin training for you. We start with the most important: to fight.”

“Oh.” She blinked. The logical part of her that had insisted Lotor would never be stupid enough to outright teach her ways to be more difficult found itself knocked for a loop. A flash of memory followed a flare of hope. “Did you teach my cousin, Romelle, to fight too?”

Grins cropped up all around her, none so wide as Ailonti’s. “Romelle, yes! Good fighter, quick student. Good at wrestling the most. She would have been welcome to _Inhalkai Kuhalth,_ but the pilot changed that.”

“Pilot? You mean Sven?”

“Yes. Mister Doom Face.” The Drule woman’s expression soured into a parody of Sven’s perpetual, intense reserve that evoked a round of good-natured laughter. Even Allura had to crack a smile. Mister Doom Face…she’d have to remember that one.

“Always together after meeting, him and your cousin. Always one following the other. It was a sorry and happy thing to see them go.” Ailonti pointed to the middle of the circle. “Now you will learn, like them.”

That lent Allura enough courage to step out. If Romelle, who had grown up just as sheltered—maybe more so—had lived through a Drule training regimen, then she could too. How she might use it against Lotor…that remained to be seen. One problem at a time. She shrugged out of her red jacket upon further instruction and handed it with thanks to a middle-aged human woman who offered to hold it. She would have preferred to have changed into something meant for exercise, like the _gi_ the guys wore to spar at home. For a first lesson, though, the loose pants and blouse would be fine. They’d need a good wash afterward; poise and etiquette she could control, but her sweat glands didn’t care how proper a princess she was supposed to be.

“Okay…what do I do now?”

Ailonti lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Fight. Brinu, be her teacher.”

The heavyset Drule woman broke from the crowd and joined Allura in the makeshift ring. Her sad smile grew to include a smidge of apology. Although it probably sprang from shallow notions, Allura wondered whether the woman’s peach fuzz hair had anything to do with her air of melancholy. Maybe she was fighting some illness? Or someone had done it to humiliate her? To punish?

These thoughts were still meandering through Allura’s mind when Ailonti barked something in Drule. Like a switch had been flipped, Brinu’s expression snapped down into a scowl, all sorrow purged. In one and a half sliding, silent steps, she closed the distance between them. The momentum generated by her feet found its way to her fist, which then transferred it straight into Allura’s stomach. The crowd let out a collective _oooh_ in her stead since every wisp of air had been driven from her lungs, until they felt squeezed flat. Allura collapsed to her knees, hands pressed to the gaping hole that surely must have been blown through her middle.

“On your feet.”

Through tear-smudged vision she looked over at Ailonti. The rush of blood in her ears must have garbled what the woman had said.

“On your feet, Princess. We are not done. Far from it.”

Outrage gave her the strength to lurch up. Once she’d managed to gulp down several breaths, Allura decided to waste some on speech. “Are you _insane?_ I’m not a boxer, I don’t know how to—”

“Continue.” The words weren't delivered with coldness or severity, but they hit like a slap anyway.

Movement in the corner of her eye cut off the chance for further argument. Hands still protecting her tenderized stomach, Allura shot her gaze back to Brinu. The short-haired Drule woman had started circling to her right. Though her face still promised menace, at least she hadn’t charged a second time. Struggling not to prance like a spooked horse, Allura followed her with gaze and body. This time, when Brinu rushed in, she managed to jump back from the path of a jab at her face. The second, third, and fourth punches, however, lit up her chest and both sides of her ribs with crackling pain. Her opponent slid back out of range the second the blows found their targets--before Allura could have contemplated a counterattack, even if she’d been capable of one.

Another of her guardians’ diplomacy lessons bobbed to the surface of her memory. _When in a situation where you’re at a disadvantage or the target of hostility, always: look to any allies for aid, never show how ruffled you may be, and fight insults with dignity._

After a glance around at their audience, Allura knew option one was out. Interest and scrutiny abounded on the faces surrounding them, but not a hint of pity to be seen. Even if she managed to break through the circle, she doubted she’d get far. Presumably, Lotor had signed her up for this hazing, so threats of reprisal would likely fall flat too. Jaw tight enough to make her head throb, Allura brought her arms in tight to her torso, offering it what protection she could.

Keep a stiff upper lip and take it with dignity it was then.

Her reward for resignation was continued pummeling—now upgraded with kicks. The first time Brinu’s shin whipped around to slam into her side Allura nearly vomited. Despite her huddled stance absorbing a portion of it, the impact still ripped right through her, turning her stomach into a jangling alarm bell. She reeled sideways but managed to keep her feet.

That became their rhythm. Brinu would throw out a flurry of punches, half of which found gaps in Allura’s middling defense. And, as unpredictable as misfortune, the Drule woman’s legs would either scythe in from left or right, or snap straight out, driving their target into a helpless backpedal. The story unfolded thus until snot, tears, and blood from a busted lower lip streamed down Allura’s face. She knew the sour stink of adrenaline-laced sweat would never come out of her fancy new clothes and no longer cared.

Finally, it happened. She stumbled from a particularly vicious shin kick and hit the floor like a garbage sack. Allura remained there, arms still tucked against her body, and tried to gasp down as much air as she could get. Brinu hadn’t attacked her when she was off balance before. Maybe that would hold true while she was underfoot.

The hunch proved sound…for about ten seconds. A precious slice of time in which Allura savored the luxury of laying limp and not having any new pains exploding anywhere on her body. Not that the ones she’d earned already were letting her forget them. If these women had aimed to humiliate, to educate her on her place among them, then fine. Let them have a big pat on the back each. Fitting in or making nice didn’t sit on her list of priorities anymore.

A bruising grip on her arm said they were far from done with her, though. Allura hissed like a cat being dragged off for a bath—actually tried to dig her nails into the carpet. It did not an ounce of good. The hand hauled her upright to meet the molten gaze of Ailonti.

“Is this what is left of the Line of Altarus?” The Drule woman’s stern face buckled into a grimace of disgust. As if just touching someone so weak made her sick. “A child who cries at the first sight of its own blood?”

“I’m not a Drule, raised on slaughter!” Allura snapped, lines of decency shortened by fear and blurred by fatigue. “I can fly, but I can’t fi—”

She nearly bit off her own tongue as Ailonti gave her a savage shake.

“Do not lie to me! Do not lie to _yourself!_ You are not helpless, not a victim. Inalia knows your face as well as any of ours here—you have sent her lives in the _thousands._ Do not try to tell me your heart sang laments when the time came for you to kill.” Her fingers burrowed into Allura’s shoulder. “Or can the daughter of Alfor only be herself behind the metal skin of an animal? Where no blood will dirty her soft hands? Where no one can see the ugly truth on her pretty face?”

The sharp words snapped the last cords of restraint. Allura almost wrenched her shoulder out of joint, but she brought her free arm’s fist swinging up at Ailonti’s head in a primitive but effective arc. The Drule woman saved her temple from being hammered in by rocking her upper body back, simultaneously shoving her captive away. They stood staring at each other from across a divide much wider than mere paces. One breathing like an overworked draft horse and wishing for nothing more in the universe than a blaster in her hands, and the other collected and critical as a judge. At last, Ailonti’s appraising gaze located whatever it had sought. Creases webbed the corners of her eyes at her smile. Her hands came together in a sharp, single clap, echoed by dozens of other hands.

“The first lesson is done.”

“Yay,” said Allura.

If she noticed the deep well of contempt behind the reply, Ailonti showed no sign while she motioned to the crowd. “Jeyli, care for her.”

From the inverted vee of her white brows, the pretty Drule knew exactly what kind of mood brewed inside her charge. Still, she extended her hand without hesitation when she came forward. “Okay, Princess, let’s get you cleaned up. After that, I’ll work out some of your lumps.”

Allura kept her stewing silence cloaked around herself, leaving Jeyli to shift from foot to foot with a wry grin.

“Orrrr just stand there and give me a death glare if you want. Sure.”

Tempting as that sounded, Allura knew it would only serve to make her look even stupider. What good would come of stomping her feet and pouting? The women here would probably oblige her by leaving her to ache and stink in her sweaty clothes for as long as she could stand it. Releasing a sigh, Allura gave a curt nod. Not trying to conceal her relief, Jeyli turned and led the way to a set of corridors at the back of the main room, the spectators moving aside and dispersing at their passage.

 

-

 

Allura had to admit she believed herself almost human again after a soak in a hot bath. An extremely sore human despite the green ointment she’d allowed Jeyli to rub onto her gallery of bruises, but human nonetheless.

What little goodwill she’d regained became tapped out the second she returned to the main room and spotted Lotor conversing with Ailonti. Probably asking for a recap of her pathetic performance. She marched up to them, only a little sorry that her sweaty clothes had been cleaned while she bathed. Both Drules offered her small nods.

“You did well,” Ailonti said. “Tomorrow we will begin the second lesson.”

She searched her mind for a riposte, but her current mood had dried up her reserves of sarcasm.

“Lunch is waiting. Come on. You can take a rest afterwards,” Lotor chimed in, rightly assessing how done she was with the whole situation.

After holding Ailonti’s level gaze another moment, Allura turned and followed him out. Not a word passed her lips for most of the walk, though the prince imperial had enough to go around.

“It took Romelle almost a week to get past that first part.”

A flinch slipped past Allura’s barrier of indifference. Less than an hour of being knocked around had broken her down. To endure the abuse for days…Romelle had proven herself the stronger one, sheltered or not.

“You’ve had more experience in battle, of course,” Lotor continued, “which makes it less surprising.”

And who did she have the thank for such _experience?_

“There’s more at stake for you, however, so it’s just as well you’re progressing. Romelle was seen as nothing but another captive, the spoils of war—part of what made her effective, in the end. But you…a handful will dismiss you at their own risk, but the rest of Korrinoth will keep at least one eye on you at all times.”

“Which, again, is entirely your fault.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until he halted and spun around. Barely, she managed to stumble to a stop of her own before bumping face first into his chest.

“Fine. It’s all my fault, Allura. I’m an evil, cruel, heartless sack of blue shit. There. Happy? Does that make reality more bearable for you?”

No. He wasn’t going to twist this around her. Not again.

“This wouldn’t _be_ my reality if you’d just left me alone on Arus!”

A beat’s worth of pause. “Would you have rather died?”

Allura laughed. Short of screaming, it was all she could think to do. “Of course I don’t _want_ to die! But the choice wouldn’t be in front of me if not for you and your bloodthirsty father!”

“What if I returned you to Arus? What would you choose to do then?”

Hope pounced on her heart before sense could shield it. Allura shook her head even though she knew how pathetic the desperation on her face had to look. “Oh, please. You would never let—”

“Why not?” The corners of Lotor’s mouth sank into ever deepening creases. “What exactly have I gained from this venture? I’m not fucking you like everyone believes. I can’t even get you to cooperate in your own survival. So just tell me you have some plan to fend my father off without me. You don’t have to explain it. Just say you have a solid idea about what to do. Use the bombs I let you steal, make an alliance with Galaxy Garrison, something, anything.”

“I don’t believe in exterminating people like vermin, no matter how much easier it would be. And the Terrans are just as bad as you Drules! Garrison left Arus to rot until they heard we had a shiny new toy called Voltron. They’ll demand its secrets in exchange for their so-called help.”

“And that’s too steep a price to pay to save your people?”

“Voltron is Arus’ legacy. Garrison will use it for evil purposes and—” She jumped and nipped her tongue when Lotor slapped her hands together right in front of her face.

“Bullshit, Allura! Voltron is _your_ legacy. Do you honestly think anyone on Arus is willing to die, to see their children die, to preserve your family honor? It’s taken me this long, but I can see why you’d throw away my offer of marriage as a first option.” He grimaced, skin going gray, like admitting that much bled something vital from him.

“Not trading an object to buy protection, though? That’s pure self-indulgence. Garrison would have put great efforts into developing war tech from Voltron, no doubt. Much of which would have been used against us and the Supremacy anyway. You can’t be so naïve to believe that some of that research wouldn’t have led to breakthroughs in medicine, communications, travel, or other scientific fields, though. The only thing holding you back is wanting to preserve your fantasy of innocence and crusading for the one true cause. Or just letting that stiff-necked nanny and advisor tell you what to do.”

A few syllables stuttered out of Allura, but no defense. Tears began to nettle behind her eyes. Not from the anger burbling under the surface. There wasn’t enough to counteract the sense of failure that bored a hole right to the pit of her stomach, sucking everything down with it.

Zarkon, Lotor, the Drules—everything they had done fell squarely on the side of wrong. How many crimes, though, could she have prevented if she had done more than the bare minimum? If she’d taken a stand and been the ruler of Arus in more than title?

“Do you love him?”

The question jarred Allura from her tail spinning thoughts. She blinked dumbly at Lotor.

“Do you love him?” he repeated, with a patience born of having nothing to lose rather than sympathy. “Your captain, Kogane. Are you in love with him? Tell me at least that much and I’ll release you. All you have to do is give me a reason I can understand.”

One lie. Only one fib stood between her and freedom. Not even a total fiction—there was…something…there when she thought of Keith. A curious tension to all their interactions. Attraction, comradery, the expectations of others. It didn’t matter. Maybe it wasn’t love, but it was more than she had with Lotor. One _yes_ and she could go back to everyone and everything she knew.

Instead, Allura stood petrified in the hallway of the house of her enemies and said nothing.

Slowly, Lotor closed his eyes. The fight bled out of his stance, leaving his head hanging. Taking a deep breath, he regathered himself and went to the third door down on their left. A few taps on the keypad saw it open.

“Go inside. Eat. Rest.” For a moment, he looked like he might say more. The moment passed. Never glancing back, he left.

For once, Allura did as she was told. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haggar has some more stern advice for Lotor, as well as a tidbit or two he didn't know about his mother. Allura has an enlightening chat with a young servant before receiving a surprise invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Preisteshon, skaryxx, IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, seekingserenity, MrsKohakuSato, tisifone21, CrimsonClover, TiffanyBlue, DifferentDances, I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, MadelineL, Lightning_Strikes_Again, spaceChai, Erisethx, Andelevion, MalevoLiss, Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, DinG_dOnG_bEacH, Eliza Jane, yeet-on-them-haters, Lpsfan100, and everyone who's read, commented, given kudos, or bookmarked this thing!
> 
> NOTE: This is the last completed chapter I have of this fic. From this point forward I'm afraid the best I can offer is partial updates every month. I understand this may be a little disappointing after weekly updates of full chapters, but I'll do my best to keep up a regular, if slightly slower, writing schedule. Again, I appreciate all of you taking an interest in this fic and sharing your thoughts with me. I hope you continue to do so. :)
> 
> @ CrimsonClover: Well, I finally managed to get at least the start of one of the other fic ideas posted. Here's to hoping the trend continues.
> 
> You know, I did consider going with the idea of Saffrin falling in love with someone on Arus but scrapped it since the main relationship is already a Drule/Human one. Not that there couldn't or aren't multiple examples of such a thing. I dunno. I just didn't want it to be too similar in premise. The whole angle of Saffrin and the other letting each other go would have been a great counterpoint to Allura and Lotor, though. He does have a romantic interest, however, who will show up in later chapters. I think his emerging connection to Lance became the substitute for that initial star-crossed lovers idea. I honestly don't know where I'm going with Saffrin's own love life yet. Perhaps there's a way to work in your idea about duty over desire...*rubs chin thoughtfully as well*
> 
> And thanks for being such an amazing reviewer. I really can't say it enough.
> 
> I kickbox in real life, so I can testify to some of what Allura experienced in that training scene. There are people at my martial arts school that can kick so hard even through a padded shield that I honestly feel like I might break in half. They are my idols, hahaha. 
> 
> Allura will have to assess her feelings regarding Keith during several points of the story, not to mention how that fits in with whatever she feels for Lotor. She'll pretty much have to question everything she thought she believed about love and relationships by the end.
> 
> @ TiffanyBlue: Thank you for the comment! I like to read a lot of fantasy, so that's probably why I try to pack so much detail into stories. That and I'm just long-winded, heh.
> 
> @ spaceChai: Good to hear from you again! It has to get worse before it gets better, but things will eventually lighten up enough to let some gentler feelings slip in.

Lotor was already busy pacing a rut into his room’s floor by the time Haggar walked in. Drinking too; the level of wine in the opened bottle on the bar sat at half empty. The glass in his hand mirrored it.

“Whatever you wanted to see me about is that bad, is it?” she began, tone mild.

He didn’t pause or look. She might not have arrived at all. With the insight of one who’d been in the same state before, Haggar folded her arms into her robe’s sleeves and waited. Reward wasn’t long in coming.

“I never should have brought her here.”

She let his neurotic circuit put his back to her before pulling a disgusted grimace. “Your princess isn’t falling into your arms with gratitude, is that it? Well, why would she? It’s barely been a day since she was brought here.”

Lotor snapped around. “It wouldn’t matter if she’d been here a thousand days! She’d hate me just the same!”

“ _Enough._ ” Expensive bottles and glasses shivered on their shelves at the waves of power emanating from Haggar’s voice. More gratifying still, the pout fled the boy’s face.

“Your frustration is understandable,” she continued in a more mundane but no less stern tone. “But that doesn’t mean I came all the way here to listen to whining. You’re not a child anymore, Lotor. You’re an intelligent man when you try to be. So, _try._ Tell me what’s upset you and we’ll work on a solution.” If, that was, one existed. Much of adulthood entailed accepting that the universe answered to laws higher than mortal whim.

Turning from her, he strode to the bar. After draining his glass dry he poured himself another. Since she detected an attempt to gather his thoughts more than to annoy her Haggar didn’t scold him. For a few minutes the prince traded off between taking equally big breaths and swigs.

“I said things. To Allura,” he admitted at last in a hoarse voice.

“What kind of things?”

He recounted his latest exchange with the Princess of Arus. Haggar, displaying peak levels of mercy and muscle control, held her laughter in check. About damn time he stopped treating the girl like a rare flower. When he found out she had thorns after all, though—that’s when the real fun would begin.

Silently invoking Ufalta for a limber tongue, Haggar helped herself to a chair over by the bookshelves. If she had to play matchmaker she might as well be comfortable while doing it. “Indulge me a moment, my prince. Tell me what it is exactly you want to happen between you and Princess Allura. Be specific. Don’t be afraid to share the details. I give my word I won’t mock you.” Much.

He huffed a laugh and raked fingers through his hair. “I want a _life_ with her, isn’t that obvious?”

“In a general sense, perhaps. But what a life includes can be defined in vastly different ways depending on who you ask. I want _your_ definition.”

Agitation hooked his mouth downwards as he poured himself more wine, but his unfocused stare let her know he had started to grapple with the idea already. Not until his glass stood empty again did he answer.

“I want her to tell me things. Any and all things. What she thought of the food at dinner. Why she enjoyed a particular story. Jokes. Dreams. Fears. Wishes. For no other reason than she wants to share them with me. I want her to put spirit into ruling Arus and ruling the Empire. I want her to ask me questions about myself, about this place, about the people around us. I want her to trust, work with, challenge, if not love me. No, I think I gave up on that fantasy a while back, her being the doting wife. But an ally at least…that I could live with. I just don’t know _how to convince her I mean it._ ”

Well. Who knew Zarkon’s son would turn out to be a romantic? Haggar settled back into the chair with a sigh.

“All things considered, Highness, you’re headed in the right direction.”

Hands planted on the bar, he lifted his hanging head to twist around and stare hard at her. Whatever hints of deceit he expected to see remained absent. She shook her head. Honestly, she expended so much effort for so little faith in return. She trudged ahead regardless.

“Allura will never be swayed by pretty words and trinkets. You know that already, otherwise you wouldn’t have switched tactics and let her capture that freighter. Allegedly,” she added as his mouth popped open to protest. “Jewelry, poetry, promises: they’d all lose their power once you do something Allura disapproves of. Without a base of trust to set them on, such gestures are mere appeasement.

“Honesty, however, even the sort that bruises feelings—maybe _especially_ that kind—can help you where flattery can’t. Honesty gives rise to respect, even among enemies. Respect is the master key to a great many doors of the heart and mind.  The best way to foster those two things? Practice them. Be transparent about your motives and actions, with yourself as much as the girl. Treat Allura as an equal and she will grow into one. It’s as simple and difficult as that.”

“I should yell at her more. Is that what you’re telling me, witch?”

Haggar shot a warning glance at him. “Don’t get cute with me. You wanted advice and you’re getting it.”

He tightened his jaw, turning away and reaching for the wine bottle. Glass full, he brought it not to his lips but over to her. She accepted with a gracious nod and sip. Stronger than she normally preferred, but perhaps circumstances called for getting a tad sloshed. Cosmos knew she deserved it.

“I don’t know what to do, Haggar. I’m afraid she’ll be just like Vasya.”

Ah. The main artery of the matter at last. Her gaze leapt up to Lotor’s face. A light glimmer of sweat had appeared across his brow. His eyes pointed toward the bookshelves, but they saw things behind, in the past, rather than right in front of him. Haggar took a bigger swallow. Her mind needed to be a little tilted for this chat, oh yes.

“The only way Allura _might_ become like your mother is if you relive your father’s role. Given you’ve neither butchered her comrades nor thrown her into the arena yet I’d say you’re ahead of the curve.”

He made a slight choking sound. “Vasya fought in the arena?”

Though she took another deep drink, alcohol had nothing to do with Haggar’s loosening tongue. She was, to borrow the Terran expression, on a roll. “What, did you think it was incomparable beauty or moral purity that caught your father’s interest? Vasya wasn’t ugly by any account, but Zarkon already had the pick of whatever soldier, citizen, or prisoner that drew his eye. Oh, don’t pull that face—you know how he is. No, no, the sight of your mother covered in the blood of enemies and shouting out a challenge for a duel between just the two of them next was what did it for him.” More than Haggar ever could anyway. She’d always been more scholar than warrior.

“But—” He stalled, shying away from the subject from sheer force of habit. “But why a prisoner? Why a human? He wouldn’t have bent rules for Vasya out of affection, not like I’ve done for Allura. There was no advantage to wanting a soldier from an Alliance colony he’d destroyed. So, _why?_ ”

Haggar sagged into the chair under the full weight of years gone by. “You’ll have to ask him yourself if you want the answer.” She highly doubted the one Zarkon had given her would suffice: _Because she isn’t one of you Sarga-loving sperm hunters, that’s why._ “If I were to guess, though…Vasya had an incredibly strong will. She commanded respect and admiration in whatever she did, at least among her own people. In another life, she might have been your father’s equal.” Another gulp of wine couldn’t quite quench the resentment sizzling on her tongue. “Of course, as we all know, His Majesty believes he has no such thing.” Worse, he’d overcome any attempt to disabuse him of the notion.

Lotor absorbed the words, let them permeate, fuse with his own concerns. “Do you think Allura could ever accept being Queen of the Galran Empire?”

Much to her surprise, Haggar detected a flutter of optimism in some dusty, disused corner of her heart. “Yes. Because she’s capable of the one thing Vasya wasn’t: adapting.”

Though the young prince nodded, his screwed down mouth betrayed how far he still had to go before understanding. “Any other advice for me?”

She’d meant to bring it up earlier, but the first mention of Vasya had jostled it right out of her thoughts. “There _is_ a gift you can offer Allura. Several really, but let’s start small.”

His eyebrow raised in the universal symbol for skepticism.

“Give her this.” Haggar gestured back and forth in the space separating them. “Allow her access to contact Arus so she can speak with someone she trusts.”

“But what if—”

“Nonsense. What if what? What is she going to do? Tell them what they already know, that’s she’s on Korrinoth? Complain about the food? Any espionage mission they put her up to will be noted by the personnel monitoring communications.” She shook her head. “If your princess is to bend without breaking she needs an outlet.”

Resistance remained in his clenched fingers and lips, yet Haggar had faith. Should his ability to see reason fail, his desperation to get back into the girl’s good graces would assure the suggestion prevailed.

Setting aside her empty glass, she rose and brushed down her robes. “If that’s all, my prince…?”

He gave his futile approval with a huff and curt nod. She started for the door, wondering how a single conversation could leave her so brittle and tired.

“Haggar…thank you. For all the times you were here and Vasya wasn’t.”

She stumbled a bit, caught herself on the open door’s frame, and didn’t dare peer back behind.

The wine. Alcohol amplified emotion, especially in those already prone to it. Inflated her role in his memories. Didn’t allow him to suspect her true mission. It unrolled an inventory in her own head of the many things she could have had. Could have been. Wasted speculation. Inefficient regrets.

“You’re welcome, boy,” she rasped even so.

Her steps fell much more lightly on her way out.

-

If the young man hadn’t been in her room when she returned Allura didn’t know how long she might have just moped under the bedcovers. They both jumped a little at the sight of another person, his yellow eyes popping as wide as her blue ones. She’d caught him in the act of setting the small table by the windows. For two. So, Lotor hadn’t originally planned on telling her off. A kernel of grim satisfaction sprouted in Allura’s heart. At least he could still get in the way of his own schemes.

The young Drule fidgeted with the rolled cloth napkin he held, nearly dropping it in the process. He managed to recover and even turned the fumble into a hasty bow her way.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, cheeks warming. Formality wasn’t such a bad thing among strangers maybe, but she had low tolerance for it no matter where she ended up it seemed.

Blinking owlishly, the young man straightened. His indigo eyebrows pulled down, lips miming her words.

Allura’s face heated by a few degrees more. “Oh! I’m sorry. Do you speak Terran Trade at all?”

“Mm…” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. “Leetle.”

They didn’t have enough words in common between them for the most basic conversation to happen probably. She wished she’d had a Drule language program to study years earlier.

A program…

“Computer?”

“Yes, Princess?” came the smooth, ever helpful voice.

“Do you have any translation capabilities? Can you interpret Terran into Drule and vice versa?”

“I can, yes. Would you like me to do so?”

“Yes, please, starting now.” Allura took a breath, reset her mind, and looked to the young man staring back at her. “Hello. What is your name?”

He jerked like he’d been pinched when his own language streamed out of the room’s audio ports. Understanding arose a second later and a smile broke out across his face. Despite the prominent fangs present in the expression, joyous relief weltered up in Allura’s chest until she feared it might spill over into tears. The slightest friendly gesture in this dark place shone like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. She strained her ears, hungry for every word, when he fired off a long string of Drule.

“I forgot about the castle computer,” came the inflectionless translation. “Good idea. Oh, my name is Tishaan, Your Highness. I can’t believe I’m talking to a predator pilot.”

Her brain stalled. Predator…ah, of course. There wouldn’t be a proper word for _lion_ in their vocabulary.

“You know about Voltron?” she asked.

The young man, Tishaan, nodded with vigor. “Yes, I have all the holo cards for the predator ships, pilots, the big robot, everything. Your card was the first one I ever traded for.” His skin flushed a darker blue after that.

Allura kept her face pleasantly bland while her thoughts whirred and spun. Did the common people here think of her and the guys as heroes? Considering how many Drule soldiers they’d killed, maybe that idea stretched past credibility. Then again, their culture did embrace war. Perhaps high-ranking soldiers held the same status on Doom as professional athletes did on Terra.

“My card?” Allura asked, careful not to let her lips draw back in a grimace. Whatever he meant she doubted it would be flattering.

Tishaan patted the hip pockets of his royal blue jacket. His fingers dipped into one and produced a small rectangle of clear plastic. It trembled in his grip slightly as he offered it to her. She couldn’t keep from squinching her eyes as she examined the thing, like that would filter out any unpleasantness.

A holographic image of her dominated the top of the card. Who and how they had captured a picture she had no idea, but they’d done the job well she had to admit. The snapshot had caught her with her pilot’s helmet on, chin tilted up at an angle of regal defiance, her eyes blazing proudly behind the visor. Allura wondered how much touchup it had required to make her skin tone so even, or to add golden wisps of curls by her cheeks. Every time she’d pulled her helmet off in real life her face had been blotched red under a greasy layer of sweat. Conditions hadn’t proven any more favorable to her hair; Nanny never failed to lament the rat’s nest that resulted.

“Who makes these?” The question escaped with a sharper edge than intended.

Blush seeping all the way up to the points of his ears, Tishaan offered a vague hand wave. “Different companies. They come packaged with other things, to sell more product, I think.” He pointed to the sinuous lines of Drule text on the card. “It has your name, your number of kills, and a little history.”

“History? What history?”

His neck sank into his hunched shoulders, turtle-like. “Just that you’re the last of your family and became the blue pilot when the former one was injured by the king’s witch. Nothing bad. Nothing about you and the prince imperial.”

Though her curiosity had the nerve to raise questions on what the Doom populace had heard about her and Lotor, it couldn’t force them past her mouth. She simply didn’t have the capacity to take another beating, figurative or not, right then. Instead, she fell back on Diplomacy Rule Number One: Evade any subject not to one’s advantage at all costs.

“Tishaan, how long have you worked in the castle?” Since no tactful way to ask someone whether they were enslaved existed, Allura went with the more dignified assumption.

His posture unwound some. Clearly, he’d been saved by the change in subject as much as her. “Oh, I started around a year ago. My brother got me in. He’s an assistant to the meal production manager for the castle’s soldiers. I’ve met many important people, including you now.”

Altarus help her, that unsuspecting comment drew out a pack of ideas ready to pounce on it. Worse, she took the middle rather than high road: while she didn’t press for a list of who he knew, she squirreled the info away. She could call it ensuring her survival, but the guileless glow in Tishaan’s gaze made her want to look anywhere else.

“I doubt the prince is going to show up for lunch here,” Allura said with as much forced nonchalance as she could muster without bursting a brain vessel. “Are you going to take his plate back or…?”

“I’ll leave it for now, just in case. When someone else from the kitchen comes to pick up the dishes they’ll take it and one of us will eat the leftovers.” From his grin, he looked forward to it.

Conversation with somebody who wasn’t infuriating had partially revived her equilibrium and Allura figured she could think without requiring a strait jacket by the time she was finished. But in order to do that she needed some solitude. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Tishaan. Are you assigned to bring meals here?”

“Yes. I’ll be back almost every day around the same times.” His smile expanded. “I’m glad I got to talk with you, Your Highness.”

“Until next time. And thank you for the food.”

The young Drule practically floated out of the room with his serving cart. Allura prayed she’d never have an opportunity to twist such unthinking admiration to her advantage.

She still hadn’t touched her plate when the computer’s voice intruded on her brooding a minute later.

“Royal page at your door, Princess.”

Allura sat up in the chair straighter. A page. That could only mean two things in her experience: a formal invitation or a message someone didn’t want logged. “Er, let them in?”

Despite her hesitant tone the door slid open. In strode another Drule man, a little older than Tishaan. After a few paces he came to a stop at attention every bit as crisp as the creases in his dark blue uniform. Similar to the ones Doom’s soldiers wore, she noted, only with geometric gold embroidery instead of fringing around the shoulders.

“Greetings, Princess Allura of Arus.” The page’s voice held no more emotion than the AI’s, his Terran Trade just as blandly precise. “I have two messages to deliver to you.”

“Um, yes. Proceed.”

“The first is from His Imperial Highness Lotor. You are to be given full access and capability to contact Arus by vidlink and audio as you see fit. Effective immediately.”

Allura banged her thighs against the table’s edge she shot up so fast. “ _What?_ ”

The page continued to stare at nothing in particular and repeated the message verbatim. Her brain still couldn’t accept what her ears reported. Unrestricted communication to Arus. To home.

Nevermind Greeks bearing gifts. Drule princes were the ones to watch out for.

What was Lotor’s angle with this move? Because he had to be up to something—had to expect her to leap at such a chance without considering the consequences. Did he hope that she’d goad the guys into a suicide mission to rescue her? Was it an attempt to spy on her and glean any information she might share with allies? Did he just want to rub his victory in their faces?

Was it possible that maybe—only maybe, mind—that he felt guilty over his harsh words in the hallway?

She snorted. If he could kidnap, imprison, and threaten her he’d hardly lose any sleep over hurting her feelings.

When she looked over at the door again Allura blinked at the sight of the page still standing there. Did Castle Doom use androids as personal messengers? That would explain a few things. Although, the man’s sides did expand and contract with breath as she watched, so he’d have to be an awfully realistic machine.

She remembered something about there being a second message and grimaced, realizing how crazy she must have seemed making faces in silence for the last few minutes. Hopefully androids didn’t judge people much.

“Er, you had another message too?”

Not even a hint of relief flickered across the page’s face. “Yes, Highness. This one is from His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Zarkon.”

Her intestines slithered up into her torso and attempted to strangle her other vital organs. Out of mercy, presumably. When she failed to conveniently die or lose consciousness, etiquette forced her to say, “And what…what does he want?”

A smidgen of sadistic humor made the page’s lips twitch—Allura swore on her father’s grave they did. “His Majesty invites you to dinner in his chambers on the twentieth hour of today. Attire is to be casual and weaponry optional.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of Ailonti and Jeyli, Allura works on a survival plan for dinner with Zarkon. When she makes use of Lotor's gift of letting her contact Arus, her friends and teammates reveal her prospective father-in-law isn't the only threat they have to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I missed you guys! Also, I come bearing gifts: a whole, shiny new chapter! Bit of a lengthy one too. Hope you find it worth the monthly wait. Also also, I made a Tumblr blog to not only stick fics in, but in case anyone wants to ask questions, catch previews of upcoming stories/chapters, share their own projects, or just poke me to write faster. Can be found here: https://carlychameleon.tumblr.com/
> 
> Very merry thank yous go out to CrimsonClover, 0rigo, The_Cat_Whisperer, Preisteshon, skaryxx, IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, seekingserenity, MrsKohakuSato, tisifone21, TiffanyBlue, DifferentDances, I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, MadelineL, Lightning_Strikes_Again, spaceChai, Erisethx, Andelevion, MalevoLiss, Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, yeet-on-them-haters, Eliza Jane, ding_dong_beach, luademoona, Lpsfan100, and anyone who's read, reviewed, left kudos, or bookmarked! Whatever part of the world you reside in, and whichever holidays you celebrate (or don't), I wish you and those you care about peace and joy. And more Voltron, of course. -__^
> 
> @ The_Cat_Whisperer: Lotor's got her back, but even better, Allura is starting to learn to watch her own. Together, they'd make quite a team, wouldn't they...
> 
> @MadelineL: Haha, I think if you had to have a meal with Zarkon *brunch* would be the best time. I'm sure bottomless mimosas could put even bloodthirsty tyrants in a good mood. :P
> 
> @ CrimsonClover: Lotor does indeed have it bad. Funny enough, maybe only his father understands how much so, which will pop up in the dinner chapter. (I meant it to be this one, but once I got writing other plot points took priority.) I think the only thing more shocking to Allura than the more wholesome feelings Lotor has for her is going to be sorting out her own emotions toward him...
> 
> Zarkon will let Allura know exactly what he thinks of her during dinner, in no uncertain terms. Just gonna leave that right there and back away. :P
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your compliments and insightful comments! Tishaan and many other Drules will come into Alllura's life during the course of the story. Not to mention a variety of humans she's never had to deal with before too. 
> 
> My apologies for the cliffhanger. I try to use them sparingly, especially since you guys have to wait. But every now and then they slip out, along with an evil laugh. :P
> 
> Possibilities for the star-crossed lovers idea have sprouted, but it will take time to see if they grow into anything substantial. I will involve poor, poor Lance. I guess I only like to torment the characters I love, heh.
> 
> Kickboxing is super fun! And I can't even tell you how much it's helped me to write more detailed and varied fight scenes. Apparently, I'm willing to take a beating for my art. :P
> 
> @ TiffanyBlue: If I ever make you wait as long as a year, you have permission to track me down and smack me. :P
> 
> @ spaceChai: My deepest apologies for leaving you on the cliff. As for how Lotor will react to that dinner...I think "premeditated murder" about covers it.
> 
> -

Whatever amusement, real or imagined, the page had gained at her expense quickly tapped out after Allura had him repeat the second half of the message four times.

Dinner with Zarkon. An invite to break bread with the monster who had killed all her immediate family and attempted to murder her multiple times. But…she could also call home. If she just saw their faces again—Nanny, Coran, the guys—let them know she was okay, she could endure anything. Even choking down food in Zarkon’s presence.

“Challenge accepted, old pirate,” Allura muttered.

The page cocked his head, waiting for an intelligible answer.

“I graciously accept the emperor’s invitation and send my thanks for the gesture,” she told him. “Now, how do I go about contacting Arus?”

A hesitation followed in which she hoped the page had adjusted his attitude. “I was instructed to tell you to contact the medical department either through Iduna or myself in order to begin the vaccination process first. Once cleared by them you may have Iduna or a page guide you to a long-range transmission room.”

“Thank you. If that’s all, you may go.”

No irony or mockery came through in the man’s departing bow. Allura kept up the image of quiet strength long enough for the door to slide shut behind him. The second it did she wilted into her chair. Altarus help her. She’d accepted an invitation from old Zarkon himself. What was she going to wear? _Do?_ And she only had…

“Computer, what time is it here?”

“It is currently the ninth hour and fourteenth minute of Korrinoth’s day, Princess. Approximately one hour after dawn in this part of the planet.”

All right, she had only eleven hours to come up with a battle plan. And did Lotor know about this friendly little get together? Her guess leaned toward no. She smiled weakly to herself. Father and son had sent her messages on opposite ends of the good/bad news spectrum by the same means. If she’d been sure she wouldn’t throw up in her own mouth she would have laughed.

She needed help. The major kind. Though Lotor popped up first in the line of ideas he was the second to last person she wanted to deal with. While she intended to contact Arus before the dinner of death, she doubted her friends could do much aside from offer their sympathy and panic. Allura licked her dry lips and flinched from the sting of the swollen cut there.

Inspiration sparked.

“Computer—er, Iduna?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Can you connect me with, um, a woman named Ailonti?”

“Do you mean High Pristess Ailonti of _Inalkai Kuhalth_?”

“That would be the one.”

“Okay. One moment, Princess.”

More out of nerves than hunger she removed the lid on her plate and began nibbling on the first thing she grabbed: a bit of dark, flat bread. The taste didn’t register in the slightest.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” the computer announced finally. “Priestess Ailonti is not in her quarters at the moment.”

Undaunted, Allura went to Plan B. “What about a Priestess Jeyli?”

“One moment.”

The bread had been eaten and she’d started on some kind of fleshy orange leaf before she received results.

“You’re now connected to Priestess Jeyli, Princess.”

Allura gulped down her mouthful and hoped she didn’t sound like she was choking as she said, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Your Highness? Is something wrong? Are you in pain again?”

“No. I mean, yes. That is…” Allura slapped her forehead, willing years of speech and diplomacy training to return to her. “No, I’m not really in pain, but I do have a problem.” She hesitated, not sure what would be safe to say over a comm link. Then again, Zarkon couldn’t really expect her to keep it a secret unless he meant to cook the meal himself. Allura had to jam her fist against her mouth to hold back a giggle as the image of the bloodthirsty tyrant in Nanny’s apron cavorted in her imagination.

“Highness?” ventured Jeyli, tone concerned.

“Right, sorry! Um, so the emperor invited me to dinner and I—”

“He did _what?_ ”

“Uh…dinner?” At least she could rest assured she hadn’t been overreacting.

A second of silence followed before Jeyli declared, “I’m going to find Ailonti and then we’re both coming to your room.”

Allura had hardly finished the strange but pleasantly nutty-flavored leaf thing when the computer announced the women’s arrival. Jeyli bustled in, expression suitably stricken. The older Drule woman strolled in after her, looking more curious about what sat on Allura’s plate.

“Tell us everything,” commanded the young priestess, taking a seat across from Allura.

She gave them the facts: Lotor had left her after they’d had another clash, a servant had brought food, then the page had shown up with the two messages.

Ailonti cocked her head. “Lotor gave you leave to call your home again, yes?”

Jeyli slapped her hands on the tabletop with a huff. “Nevermind stupid Lotor! What are we going to do about his father?”

Her companion picked at a bit of loose thread on her white sleeve. “We will help the princess dress for the dinner if she wishes. After that, we must wait for Zarkon to make the first move.”

“But—” Jeyli clammed up under a flinty glance from her superior.

Ailonti’s gaze shifted away. She folded her hands in front of her with a dignity that echoed Nanny so much a dram of comfort worked the knots loose from Allura’s shoulders. “Princess, my sisters and I will help you in big and small things. But it isn’t the place of _Inalkai Kuhalth_ to shape your fate or the empire’s. This is why it must be you, not Jeyli, not I, who speaks in commands. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she answered on pure reflex. In reality, her mind had turned into a desolate blank space, parched by fear and barren of ideas. Ailonti continued to watch her with serene expectation; Jeyli practically vibrated in her seat, mouth pinched with the effort of not spitting out suggestions.

What did they expect her to _do?_ If she’d had any inkling she wouldn’t have called them. She’d attended a handful of formal dinners with foreign diplomats, including one from Garrison, but that had nothing on rubbing elbows with a sworn enemy. She didn’t know the culture, she didn’t know Zarkon’s intentions, she didn’t know whether she had any rights, she didn’t know _anything._

_Young lady,_ admonished Koran from within some memory of a past transgression, _if you’re unaware of the rules then it’s your duty to ask questions until you do._

A hint of smile had crept onto Ailonti’s face by the time Allura’s heartbeat stopped thundering in her ears.

“Okay. Okay.” She took a sip of water to revive her voice. “How likely is Zarkon to attempt murder at this dinner?”

The Drule woman blinked. “I don’t see him shedding your blood unless you try to kill him first.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I know I’m a long way off from being a master assassin. I’d better make sure I can beat at least Brinu in a sparring match before I take on bigger targets.” Too late she realized these women could have been spies for Zarkon. Then again, no one would have mistaken her for the tyrant’s number one fan anyway.

“If he doesn’t want to kill me today,” Allura continued, “he must be after something else. And I doubt it’s just to welcome me to his lovely home.”

“Actually, that’s probably closer to the mark than you think,” cut in Jeyli before Ailonti’s mouth could open even halfway. The young Drule shrugged at Allura’s incredulous stare. “It would be an excuse to feel you out. See how well you hold up under pressure. He’s almost for sure going to open up negotiation as far as your planet goes. Not to mention marriage to his son.”

“I’m not marrying Lotor,” she blurted, hating the hot rush of blood to her cheeks.

The two women exchanged glances that had her gritting her teeth.

“It is your right to refuse him,” Ailonti replied in a tone light enough to skate on thin ice. “But this may make other problems for you.”

“Like _what?_ I’m already a prisoner on a hostile planet. What else could go wrong?”

“If Lotor has no claim this would mean you are free to marry another. There are many partners with money and power to be found in the empire. Including the emperor, if he has an interest.”

The tiny bit of food in Allura’s stomach turned to razor blades and acid.

“ _Ailonti._ ” The way Jeyli grabbed the ends of her hair in both hands and grimaced said she understood completely. “I know you bumped pelvises with the old man a couple of times, but _seriously._ The rest of us don’t want our own sex drives murdered forever with the image _._ ”

The senior priestess didn’t dignify that with a response. Slipping her hands into the pale sleeves of her robe, she sighed. “Feelings do not make a thing more true or less true. It is known that Lotor wants you for a wife, yes. This can keep away the ones who are less, the…” She twirled her hand and raised a brow at Jeyli.

“The small fry.”

“Yes, these. But if you do not approve, Lotor’s wanting means little. You will be a free woman with a title and land. Many here have money, but no royal blood. You would make a valuable match. This could be a great strength for you if you use it.”

Allura ran her hands over her hair, resisting the urge to rip the pins out. “I don’t want to marry anybody here! I just want to go home!”

Though Jeyli’s brows made an unhappy V and Ailonti looked as moved as a brick wall, their silence carried the same message: _How many options do you think you have?_

Instead of hurling her plate against the nearest wall, Allura forced her imagination to process the possibilities. “All right, fine. Say I _pretend_ that Lotor and I are talking about marriage. Would that be enough to back everyone else off?”

“Maybe yes. Maybe no.”

“Ugh!” She knew how childish it was, but Allura threw her hands in the hair before slouching in her chair. “Why can’t they all just leave me alone?”

“To be honest, the ones trying to get under your skirt are the least of your worries. They aren’t looking to kill you.” Jeyli rolled her eyes at another reproachful glare from her superior. “What? It’s the truth. You need friends, Highness, or at least people you can use to get an edge. You’ve already got the emperor _and_ the prince’s attention, so I’d make good use of it if I were you. I’m not saying sit in Zarkon’s lap or anything super gross like that, but you’re definitely going to want to find out what he’s offering.”

That cold slap of reality had her shoe size and age swapped back to their proper places in no time flat. Why couldn’t she be smarter about this? After everything else that had happened in her life she should have been strong enough to handle the whole situation with cunning and courage. Yet here she sat, relying on others to spoon-feed her decisions. Like she always did. Balled into fists on her lap, Allura’s hands began to shake. Pathetic. She couldn’t even command her own body or emotions.

“Princess.”

While Ailonti’s eyes held nothing close to pity, they coaxed Allura away from the brink of despair. Compassion would have driven her over the edge really—would have given her another excuse to pass the baton of responsibility off to others. She took a shuddering breath and nodded to show she was listening.

“Your people would be glad to know you’re well, I think. Care for your business with them and your health. Jeyli and I will return in a later time to plan with you.” All said without any sign of comfort yet managing to lend strength anyway. In a flash of realization, Allura remembered Keith using the same tone on her many times while teaching her to fly Blue Lion and become part of the team. Understanding, quietly encouraging, but never coddling or patronizing. He believed she could measure up even when she didn’t.

“You’re right.” She only hiccoughed a little on the lump wedged in her throat. “Thank you for your honest council and assistance. Both of you.”

The two women responded with bowed heads before taking their leave. Not long after, Allura found enough appetite to polish off most of her plate, wishing she had their company to name the unfamiliar foods she enjoyed at least.

When she contacted the medical department after lunch, their response was swift and efficient. She admitted an older Drule male into the room only minutes after calling. His features held a touch of Yurak and Zarkon’s more bestial traits: sideburns of blue hair sweeping down from large, bat-like ears, and a flattened, somehow feline nose. But his yellow eyes held intelligence and curiosity rather than anything feral as he gave Allura a top-to-bottom glance.

“Greetings, Highness.” His Terran was no less clear for his thick accent. “I am Nagan, one of Prince Lotor’s physicians. May we begin?”

“Yes, of course. So these vaccines…you have to administer them by injection?” She couldn’t suppress a grimace. If Hunk had been around he would have understood. Both could handle being in a hailstorm of laser fire, but put a needle anywhere near them…

Dr. Nagan smiled in a way that said he’d seen his share of such patients before. He lifted a medium-sized case onto the table and undid the clasps. “I am afraid so. But it will only be once.” After sanitizing his hands and putting on a pair of gloves he showed her a small needle attached to a tube—a venous catheter.

With only a bit of squirming and whimpering, Allura endured the thing being poked into and taped to the crook of her arm. The doctor used an attachment to snap three vials into the other end and draw blood into them. One of these he plugged into a small device within his case. A holo screen popped up seconds later, information in Drule characters hovering across the air.

“You are fairly healthy,” he announced, scanning the text. “Not carrying any infections a simpler scan detects. The lab technicians will do a more in-depth analysis later, naturally. May I ask you a few questions, Highness?”

She nodded.

“Are you a carrier for the disease your people call ‘chicken pox’?”

“Um, well, if you mean have I had it before, then yes.”

He plucked a syringe from his case and showed it to her. “We have treatments to clear away the dormant virus. It will take time, but they must be done.”

“Wow. Is chicken pox deadly to Drules?” She imagined Zarkon itching himself to death.

“No. We carry another virus that it can crossbreed with. The effects on humans are…severe.”

She definitely had no objections in that case. Dr. Nagan used another attachment with the syringe to administer the first vaccine. The following ones covered a battery of common human diseases, from types of hepatitis to flu. Though the names of Drule ailments wouldn’t stick in her mind, their effects did. One resulted in bleeding sores inside the mouth and mucus membranes. Another wracked the victim with muscle spasms followed by paralysis. The worst caused hallucinations of insects or small animals crawling under the skin until the fever broke or the sufferer did. Allura wondered whether she ought to be more afraid of the empire’s microbes than its armies.

“These are the last two,” Dr. Nagan announced, holding the syringes in question up. “The first is mandatory, as it will protect you against most bacterial diseases spread by sex. During the second round there will be one for the viral strains. But the second is a form of birth control that will last for three of Korrinoth’s months and is optional. Would you like to receive it?”

Allura’s initial instinct had her mouth open to refuse both—if she wasn’t about to marry anyone on Doom, she damn sure wasn’t about to…to…do anything in need of _that_ sort of protection. Then the sense Jeyli and Ailonti had talked into her reasserted itself. Who knew what could happen to her today, let alone in three months? At least with these shots she’d be safe from pregnancy or infection if not degradation. She could maintain some control over her body—certainly much more than she’d imagined she’d have as Lotor’s hostage.

“Yes, please.” Shame still inflamed her cheeks as Nagan began to inject the serums into the other end of the catheter. When she’d turned eighteen back home, Dr. Gorma had once, very gently, let her know that contraceptives were available upon her request. While she hadn’t doubted his commitment to patient confidentiality, Nanny’s strong opinion on respectable behavior and her own aversion to the subject had rendered the possibility unthinkable.

Another train of thought made her go cold all over.

“Can I have birth control whenever I ask? That is, if I…if I took a husband, does he have a say in such matters by law?”

Dr. Nagan jumped as if she’d snapped her fingers in his face. “Only you may request or refuse such things, Highness.”

Her blush returned with a vengeance under his flabbergasted reaction. In a culture that encouraged women to walk around armed maybe that made for a stupid question. Still, it paid to be sure.

“Um, right. Thank you. Does this mean I can go out in public now?”

Recovering somewhat, he cleared his throat. “I would not recommend that just yet. Wait two weeks and do not go near children, as you may be carrying something they are not protected against. You are clear to walk freely in the palace since the staff are adults and have their vaccinations. You will be cleared to be among the general populace within a month.”

“Oh, good. Do you happen to know how to get to a transmission room? I want to make a call.”

He did, but gave her something even more valuable than directions: he told her how to ask the castle’s AI to guide her wherever she wanted. Which was how Allura wound up in the hallway, following a trail of tiny blue-green lights rippling along the bottom edges of the walls. At the end of the corridor they flowed up to outline a door on the right side. It opened at her word. An ergonomic seat waited in front of a large holoscreen display the same soothing color as the guide lights. Allura let the door shut behind her and collapsed into the chair. Her tongue didn’t want to come unglued from the roof of her mouth. This couldn’t be an elaborate set-up for a trick. It _couldn’t._ Not even Lotor had the capacity to be that cruel. Surely.

“Computer?” she whispered.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Call…contact the Castle of Lions control room on the planet Arus.”

“Okay. One moment please.”

Allura’s heart constricted in time with the screen’s hypnotic pulse. A cheerful _ping_ nearly had her springing out of the seat half a minute later.

“Contact accepted. Connected to Castle of Lions control room, Arus.”

The screen morphed into the familiar sight of Coran sitting at the control panels. She almost didn’t recognize the man at first. His hair stuck out in clumps on either side of his head like he’d been compulsively burying his hands in it. The buttons on his long jacket had been misaligned by one; his tie hung askew. A wince beat out laughter to see him leap out of his chair in such a state, but only just.

“Allura…” Coran’s voice didn’t rise about a raspy whisper. “Oh, child, is it really you?”

More than fragile hope laid beneath the question she realized a moment later. The Drules and Haggar, after all, had come up with a couple of convincing decoys in the past. “When I was four, somebody got me some goldfish for my birthday. I wanted to pet them so I grabbed one out of the fish bowl. You caught me at it and had to explain that fish need water to breathe. I felt terrible about the whole incident until you, my father, and a few of the maids held a funeral service for the poor things out by the lake.”

A great sigh rattled out of her advisor and he flopped back into his seat. “Altarus be praised. When I saw an incoming message from Doom I assumed it would be Zarkon or Lotor, ready to make their demands.” His eyes widened, head snapping up. “Have you escaped from them to get this message out? Are you in danger?”

“What? Oh, er, not really. Actually, Lotor granted me access to contact Arus freely. Well, as freely as possible with whatever security team they have here spying on transmissions anyway.”

She might have been babbling in Drule from the way Coran gawked at her. “Lotor…gave you leave to send messages?”

Allura opened her mouth, then shut it slowly, realizing for the first time how that must sound. Adding that Lotor might have done it to make up for them having a fight became doubly out of the question. “It’s a complicated situation,” she replied, forcing herself not to fidget. “If you’d do me the favor of calling the team and my cousins I’ll explain further.”

He studied her a few seconds longer, sharp tactician’s eyes searching for what, she didn’t know. Finally, the tense lines in his face slackened, showing his years in a way they never had before. The stoic, savvy advisor had vanished and an old man who feared for the girl he’d helped raise sat in his place. A mild tremor ran through his fingers when he reached up toward the screen.

“It’s good to see you, Allura.” He had to pause to keep the crack in his voice from growing. “I know it’s only been a day, but when you were taken…we feared the worst.”

Good God, had it really been just a day ago that she’d been running her patrol, thinking everything would be fine? So many things had happened, had flipped upside down, in the span of a planet’s single rotation.

Knowing his composure depended on hers, Allura put her hand against the image of his. The buzzing warmth from the screen’s energy field could almost pass for human contact. “It’s good to see you too, Coran. We’re going to make it through this. All of us. We always have.”

Despite her brave words, her shoulders slumped when he left the room to fetch the others. Any traces of wetness had been wiped from her cheeks by the time the control room door opened again. Hunk, Lance, and Pidge got stuck trying to rush through at the same time and wound up having to scramble off the floor as Nanny barreled into them from behind. One look at Allura, though, and her governess stopped dead, going ghost-white except for two bright splotches of red on her cheeks.

“That son of a rabid bitch. I’ll twist his hands off at the wrists and force feed them to him until he chokes.”

Hearing the woman curse shocked Allura enough to almost make her forget to wonder why. A slight sting when she licked her lips provided a vital clue. She gingerly touched Brinu’s souvenir from that morning. Maybe she should have thought to put some makeup on to cover the other lumps that had to be showing by then too.

“Oh, the fat lip? That’s not Lotor’s fault, not directly. He hasn’t laid a hand on me.” Scared her half to death to make her wear the dagger maybe, but he hadn’t hit her. Not that it earned him much credit. “I started sparring lessons with the women in his harem today. Er, well, I don’t think they’re _actually_ part of a harem—he told me that just to mess with my head. They’re more like warrior priestesses? I didn’t ask outright since I don’t know them well enough.”

In the resulting silence she could have heard the whiskers of the castle’s mice twitch. She blushed hard enough to make her head throb. “Um, maybe I should start from the beginning.”

With a second window splitting the original screen and containing Romelle, Bandor, and Sven, she reported events since her arrival on Doom. Though she’d always been a terrible liar she found it easy enough to breeze over the more alarming details. Lotor’s innuendos during his earlier visits or how she might have to dangle marriage in front of some Drule noble were the last things she wanted to share at the moment.

“So you did have a deal going with Lotor.” Though Romelle shook her head, her tone held closure rather than censure.

Nanny’s scowl ran to the polar opposite of that spectrum. “What in heaven’s name were you _thinking,_ young lady? A fiend like Lotor has no honor—he can’t be bargained with.”

“We’d all be dead right about now if the princess hadn’t taken a chance on Lotor.” The weight of scrutiny shifted immediately off Allura’s shoulders to land on Hunk’s much sturdier ones. She couldn’t deny being grateful for the reprieve—not to mention support. No one would have bought such a defense from her own mouth. More likely they would have debated how fast Stockholm Syndrome could take effect.

“Hunk’s right,” Sven said, widening the rift of opinion further. “We wouldn’t have known about that freighter of WMDs before it was too late. And while it’s definitely not a cozy situation for Allura, her presence on Doom has caused Zarkon to think about negotiating instead of turning Arus into space debris. We don’t have to be happy about the situation. We do have to start thinking about how to turn it to our advantage, though.”

Lance held up his hands. “Whoa, time out. Did my invitation to the Lotor and Zarkon Fan Club get lost in the mail? Not that I care—I would’ve wiped my ass with it and flushed first thing. Do you guys _hear_ yourselves? The prick kidnapped the princess! It’s only a matter of time before he uses her to _his_ advantage!”

Sven conceded the point with a nod. “True. But it’s also pretty safe to say Allura is only an asset to Lotor as long as she’s alive and well. I trust him to at least try to keep her that way—more so than I do his father. He and the death priestesses are her best shot for survival.” His black eyes met Allura’s. “You said there were three women helping you?”

“So far, yes. Ailonti, Brinu, and Jeyli.” She wanted to ask how well he and Romelle knew the priestesses and whether the two of them had any other contacts on Doom she could turn to, but bit her tongue. Their dealings with Lotor during their own captivity weren’t hers to share. Besides, while she figured it safe to assume Zarkon knew his son had helped her, she wouldn’t risk outing her cousin or Sven if they still had any sort of cover.

“That’s no small thing. Ask them about it. Ask them about everything you can and learn as much as possible about the empire. Knowledge is your best weapon right now.”

“Has everyone here gone nuts but me?” Lance glared at each of them in turn. “Shouldn’t we be thinking of ways to get the princess the hell _away_ from Prince Asswipe and his demented dad? Not to mention solving our other little problem?”

Allura’s stomach tightened. “Other problem?” Wasn’t there some sort of cosmic limit for disasters? _One wasn’t given more than they could handle_ and all that?

Suddenly unable to meet her eyes, Lance went quiet—the worst possible sign.

“It’s the Alliance,” came a soft voice from the back. Keith stood a bit apart from the others but shared the same theme of being uncharacteristically rumpled. One side of his hair lay flat from being against a pillow and his clothes bore the tell-tale wrinkles of having been slept in. His dark eyes, though, shone clear as they met hers with a flinch. They focused all too soon on the floor, squinted as if in pain. Her heart tore a little at the seams. He’d given it his all to save her and it hadn’t been enough. A feeling she could relate to.

“What about the Alliance?” Allura asked when no one volunteered more.

Pidge busied himself with cleaning his spotless glasses. “Well, after Lotor ran off with you we got together to brain storm. We agreed that we were in over our heads and would need help. To that end…we kinda sorta contacted the Alliance and told them the situation.” He gulped, words getting stuck in his throat.

Coran gave a short sigh of resignation. He, at least, made it a point to meet her gaze square on. “The Terran Alliance has deployed forces from its Galaxy Garrison to come to Arus and confiscate Voltron. I believe ‘to safeguard the human race from the threat of advanced weaponry in Drule hands’ was how they put it.”

Well. Good to know her best intentions weren’t the only ones paving the way to hell.

“In other words,” she said with unearthly calm, “the Alliance is taking advantage of our vulnerability to get their hands on what they want and leaving us to rot.”

“Just so, Highness.”

Allura experienced a moment of surreal detachment, her awareness floating outside her body. Only a moment. When the visceral reactions of the latter kicked in, both melded to form adamantine purpose.

“Allura?” Romelle drew back a little when that got the attention it was after. Allura realized her nails were digging into her thighs. It took conscious effort before her fingers relaxed some. She looked at a wary Coran.

“Do we have an ETA for the Garrison forces?”

“Approximately three Arusian days.”

“Good. Contact the Alliance again. Tell those grasping, gutless bastards that if a single ship or drone of theirs enters our space it will be taken as an act of war and dealt with accordingly.” She had to pause to uncurl her clawed fingers again, ignoring the open-mouthed stares aimed her way. “Also make sure to let them know I’ll be starting negotiations with the Galra Empire today. Any action Terra takes may not be against Arus alone.”

Lance sucked in a sharp breath. “Princess, you can’t be serious. We’re all hopping mad about what those Alliance dicks are doing, but that doesn’t mean we have to kiss up to Zarkon to do something about it.”

“Actually, Lance, I _am_ serious. I’m also sick to death of others running roughshod over my planet and people.” And her, by extension. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m stuck on Doom. I can’t avoid Zarkon or Lotor anymore. So, I might as well use them to secure some measure of safety for Arus.” How about that for irony: using their Drule oppressors to protect her people from new, human ones.

“What about our prisoner? Can’t we use him for some leverage?”

“Prisoner?”

Coran shot a warning look Lance’s way. “Commander Saffrin, Lotor’s second, was captured during your abduction. He’s also made it clear that the empire will not negotiate whatsoever for his release.”

Lance snorted. “Bet he’d sing like a lark if we were about to throw him to the Alliance wolves, though.”

“Have you tried asking for his help?”

They couldn’t have looked more taken aback if Allura had sprouted a second, scaly head. She couldn’t blame them; cooperating with any citizen of Doom wouldn’t have occurred to her several hours ago.

“He _is_ Lotor’s right hand man, isn’t he?” she pressed before she could chicken out. “Isn’t there a chance he might be…sympathetic to our plight if it coincides with Lotor’s interests?”

Naturally, Coran caught on first. The haunted helplessness on his face fled from the light of renewed hope. “You make an excellent point, Highness. I will speak with him after our conference is concluded here.”

“Great,” Lance muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Why don’t we just give the guy a kiss on all four of his cheeks and tattoo ‘Property of Zarkon’ on our foreheads while we’re at it.”

Ignoring the sting from his lack of faith, Allura turned to the final item on the agenda. “What about those bombs we got our hands on?” She hoped any spies listening had their ears pricked up at that. Let them remind the old pirate Arus had teeth and claws despite being on a leash.

“We’ve determined they can be broken into smaller payloads,” Romelle replied. “Like into enough to make for an effective deterrent if the Alliance doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“You read my mind. I want them to be the last resort…but I also want this to be the last time anyone tries to bully Arus. The Lions…no, on second thought, the less I know the better. Keep them safe and free so they can go on doing the same for the universe. Sven, if you haven’t already, take my place in Blue.”

Her cousins and comrade nodded, color restored to their faces.

“I’ll contact you all again tomorrow, same time, to exchange reports.” Hopefully on a more secure channel and with no new wounds to display.

“God be with you,” Nanny managed to gasp out. Her eyes held more than tears, though.

Zarkon had them pinned on one side, the Alliance was charging in from the other, but for once Allura and her friends had more than prayers in their arsenal. They had a plan and a chance to pull it off. She could recall times where they’d squeaked by on less. What would it be like to do more than simply brace for the worst and endure?

Rather than the hollow ache of loneliness, a mantle of cool resolve settled over Allura as the holo screen reverted to its dormant blue-green. It was high time she found out.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Coran show Saffrin theirs, and he shows them his. Then, Allura has dinner with Zarkon. 'Nuff said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE SEE NOTE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER FIRST FOR SPECIFIC WARNINGS IF NEED BE.
> 
> I just want you all to know how grateful I am for the views, kudos, bookmarks, and comments this fic has received. It's been wonderfully encouraging and humbling to see how many people, most talented writers themselves, have taken a little time to even look at this stuff. Not to mention talking with and getting to know some of you outside of Ao3 has helped provide enormous amounts of inspiration, Voltron lore, and straight up entertainment. Thank you CrimsonClover, MadelineL, Salticid, MalevoLiss, Goth_Loturas, The_Cat_Whisperer, TiffanyBlue, Lightning_Strikes_Again, Eliza Jane, Pride1289, kickenitloose, 0rigo, Preisteshon, skaryxx, IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, seekingserenity, MrsKohakuSato, tisifone21, DifferentDances, I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, spaceChai, Erisethx, Andelevion, Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, ding_dong_beach, yeet-on-them-haters, luademoona, Lpsfan100, and all guests. May you crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women. :D
> 
> This chapter is the longest in the whole fic, by the way, at 7,643 words. I don't know whether to blame my own tendency toward ornate description, the importance of the events within, or the fact Zarkon likes to talk. A LOT. Maybe a bit of all three? Feedback on continuity, plot, characters, grammar, any of it is welcomed.
> 
> Lastly, I think I'll just answer your comments with my own now as they crop up. Just so you don't have to wait around for, like, a month to get a reply. ^^;

The sound of footsteps in the corridor brought Saffrin out of a meditative doze and upright immediately. He could hear two sets—this wasn’t Lance McClain returning for round two of their debate. Whoever approached carried his ultimate fate with them.

He’d finger-combed his hair and straightened his uniform as best he could by the time his guests arrived. Captain Kogane and Advisor Raible. Momentous indeed. Both showed signs of a rough night and harried minds. However, their eyes shone clear and determined despite the sleepless smears of purple-gray beneath them.

“Sir Raible. Captain.” Saffrin offered each a deep nod. “How may I help you?”

An exchange of glances gave him a boost of optimism. Staunch military men, neither would have betrayed such hesitation if they had orders for something as sure as an execution.

“Well,” the more senior of the two began, toying with the fringe of hairs growing above his lip, “we came here to ask you that very question, Commander.”

No. It hadn’t even been half a week. Lotor’s plan couldn’t be blossoming with results so easily. Some cosmic law forbade it. And yet the humans continued to stare at him, waiting for a response with well-contained agitation. They did indeed want something. Something that required his cooperation rather than his head mounted on a pole. Good. Still, best to proceed lightly. Let them feel in control. This lot balked and flew into rash decisions the moment anything threatening happened.

“As I’ve said, neither the emperor or Prince Lotor will negotiate for my release,” he said with a note of apology, creating a perfect opening for them to voice their real purpose.

Another self-conscious flick of the eyes from the humans.

“We know,” answered the captain. “But there’s been another development. We’ve just spoken with our princess.”

Had he woken in an alternate reality where Lotor’s half-baked, impulsive ideas actually worked? If they told him the fair maiden had accepted a marriage proposal already Saffrin doubted his ability to refrain from an outburst—up to and including fist pumping.

“I trust Her Highness is well?”

Despite the question’s tone of banal courtesy, a flash of hatred darted to the surface of Kogane’s stare, disturbing its cold efficiency before darting back into the depths. “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.”

The captain and Lance represented polar opposites when it came to their approaches in life, but Saffrin thought he understood why the two called one another friend. He could also see that Lotor was in for one hell of a rivalry.

Sir Raible cleared his throat and bravely pressed on over the conversational mine field. “At Princess Allura’s personal request we’ve come to ask for your assistance in forging a suitable alliance with the Galra Empire.” He only turned a light shade of gray after saying it. Impressive fortitude.

Saffrin found himself presented with a headscratcher, as the Terrans said. His visitors hadn’t mentioned anything about a royal wedding, but some calamity must have forced such a drastic change in their tactics, no mistaking it. Perhaps Lotor had failed to convince his father not to free up space in Arus’s solar system by annihilating the planet. That would have been in line with the success rates his prince typically saw. But no…Zarkon wouldn’t have bothered to talk once he’d made up his mind about such an action. Not to mention the princess herself had convinced her people to make an offer to Saffrin. A peculiar offer, given both the emperor and Lotor had Arus dead to rights. That left little room for discussion beyond telling the Arusians exactly how high they were to jump when ordered. Unless…

Before he could stop himself, Saffrin let out a groan and put a hand over his face. Unless another player had entered the game, driving the stakes higher.

“You contacted the Alliance, didn’t you?” he asked, gripping the edge of his cot and leaning toward his guests. “And now we’re right in the middle of a property squabble between galactic powers.”

Advisor Raible, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed, lips tight under their sheltering moustache. The captain’s stare just hardened until it could have cut glass. “Are you going to make yourself useful or not?”

Resting his back against the cell wall, Saffrin folded his arms across his chest and flipped one leg over the other. “Of course. However, before that can happen we’re going to need to set some, ah, ground rules.”

He might have suggested they all kiss each other on the mouth judging from the captain’s sour expression. “What rules?”

“Less bickering, more listening, for starters. It’s a given we’re going to say things the other won’t be happy to hear. If we get stuck in a rut of our own personal feelings, however, we’ll soon find ourselves under the benevolent heel of Alliance occupation, or the less tender mercies of Zarkon’s direct management.”

Captain Kogane took a deep breath through his nose and held it for a count of four. “Agreed. I suppose we can trust that whatever happens to us happens to you too now.”

“Funny you should mention trust. The second rule involves that very thing, particularly by way of honesty. Or, if that’s asking too much, at least a mutual interest in survival. To this end I have something to share with you.” Standing, Saffrin began to unbutton his uniform jacket. He had to bite his lip to keep from giggling at the fish-eyed stares it earned him.

“Um…what the hell are you doing?” The captain sounded as though he _really_ hoped he wasn’t about to witness some sort of primitive, erotic Drule custom. It almost qualified for cute.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Saffrin busied himself with picking at the patch of synthskin on his upper arm until he’d peeled up a corner. It and the three data strips stuck to it came off with ease.

“Here.” He dropped the floppy little square into the drawer attached to his cell’s door and pushed it out to their side. “Have your little sergeant analyze those.”

Advisor Raible picked up the false skin, studying the shiny strips it carried. When his eyes lifted to Saffrin they reflected grim understanding. “You allowed us to capture you. Getting these inside the castle was part of Lotor’s plan all along.”

He scratched the moist place the patch had been. “Oh, I honestly did try to get away. But we knew capture was a distinct possibility, so I was entrusted with those as a secondary objective. All I needed was an opportunity to use them…and here it is.”

“What do they do?”

“I’m no technician, but I believe two are meant to upgrade your castle’s entire system. The third contains programs for hacking into Korrinoth’s. Be advised that using any of the strips will alert the person who programmed them. Namely the woman responsible for providing you with information on that weapons freighter you captured.”

Their brows leapt high at that. “Another Drule?” Kogane asked.

“From head to toe, I’m afraid. If it eases your mind any, the empire has standing orders to kill Vendris on sight. She stepped on Zarkon’s toes a number of years ago, you see.” He shivered at his own understatement. Getting in the middle of that personal war gave him more pause than jumping between two starving robeasts.

One last exchange of uncertain looks occurred.

“Thank you for your candor, Commander.” Raible gave him a nod that proved he meant the words. “We will take your actions into account as we confer.”

It came as no real surprise to Saffrin when, a few hours later, Lieutenant McClain and Sergeant Garret showed up outside his cell. The latter tried to hide his curiosity at the sight of a Drule doing sit-ups on the stone floor, but the laughing quirk around the edges of his mouth and eyes gave him away. The former openly wore a smile that did nothing to warm his stare.

Reaching his goal of four hundred only a little after their arrival, Saffrin rested his arms on his knees. “Hello again, Lieutenant. Pleased to meet you at last, Sergeant. To what do I owe the honor?”

“Congrats, smurf. Whatever bullshit you fed Coran and Keith worked. Everyone but me voted to let you breathe the free air again.”

His companion shot him a look of tempered annoyance. “With restrictions, of course.”

Saffrin focused on keeping his heart rate even, letting the sweat he’d worked up cool on his skin. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You can walk around a few parts of the castle as long as at least two of us are babysitting you. Fair warning, though—you set one toe out of line and my blaster puts you on a permanent time out. What the hell are you grinning at, blueberry boy? Think I’m joking?”

Petty or no, Saffrin couldn’t resist. “Oh, no. I absolutely believe you.” He stretched his arms out to the sides to show them the damp patches across his shirt. “I was only wondering which one of you is going to volunteer to guard me while I’m in the shower.”

The sergeant took a quick step back. “Onetwothree— _not it._ ”

“Fuck my life,” the lieutenant groaned.

!

“You’re one hundred percent sure you don’t want to tell Lotor about this?” Jeyli asked for about the tenth time. “I mean, yeah, he’s an idiot, but an idiot with high security clearance who’s heir to the throne. At least he could get away with making an excuse to send someone into Zarkon’s chambers to check on you. Or maybe get somebody to hack into the emperor’s comm and listen in. Because the three of us won’t have any way of knowing whether you’re being murdered unless blood starts seeping under the door.”

Brinu, still busy pinning up Allura’s hair, said something soft yet sharp in Drule that needed no translation. The damage had been done, though. Allura watched her complexion go chalk-white in the mirror.

“I thought Zarkon wasn’t likely to do anything as long as I didn’t.”

“He isn’t,” Ailonti said from her place by the windows, aiming a scowl her junior’s way. Jeyli’s huff preceded the _wumph_ of someone dramatically flopping into an armchair.

“I’ll tell Lotor everything afterwards,” Allura said, nudged by guilt. The young priestess had her best interests at heart probably, but she’d been second guessing herself and imagining ghastly scenarios enough as it was without any help.

“That is best,” agreed Ailonti. “The prince is not at his most intelligent when it comes to you. His fear for your life may make him cause more insult to Zarkon than he already has, which will give the emperor a reason to punish him or you—or both. He may have counted on this thing when he asked for your company, in truth. So, go quietly, learn what the emperor wants, and let our little prince yell about it at a later time.”

Some mean impulse inhabiting a dark, dingy alley of Allura’s mind chuckled gleefully to itself. A good dose of shock and alarm, it said, would serve Lotor right for all he’d given her over the years. If he hadn’t meant to put her in danger he should have left her to live in peace on Arus. Maybe this would show him how wrong he’d been to spirit her away to Doom.

“ _Ba,_ ” said Brinu, patting her on the shoulder.

Allura nodded at what she saw in the mirror. The cut of her black trousers, blouse, and indigo jacket ran to conservative, the lines straight and hiding any real hint of feminine form. Geometric silver embroidery on her jacket and the _sahj_ around her hips provided a little flash. Jeyli had kept her makeup minimal, just a hint of smoky black outlining her eyes. The bun Brinu had twisted and rolled her hair into added a welcome touch of the familiar. All in all, she figured she passed for Drule business casual.

“Come,” said Ailonti, taking up position on her left side. “It’s almost time. We Drule value not showing ourselves late.”

“You’re going to walk me?” Allura couldn’t quite keep the squeaking note of relief from her voice.

“Oh, yeah. No way are we going to let you get assassinated on the way there.” Jeyli covered her right flank while Brinu guarded the rear.

On that cheery note they set off through the labyrinthine corridors.

“Speak only if you must,” Ailonti told her _sotto voce_ as they started out. “Ears are everywhere.”

She couldn’t remember a longer, more somber stroll in her entire life. In reality it only consisted of her own hall, up twelve floors in the elevator, and to the end of a second hall, but dread transformed it into a slog. When they finally reached a short flight of broad steps leading down to iron-bound double doors Allura had to remind herself what was at stake to keep her feet from faltering.

“Knock him dead.” Jeyli slapped her on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send her tumbling down the stairs. “Literally, if the old reptile tries anything funny. The law would be on your side there.”

“Um, good to know?” She rubbed what would likely be a fresh bruise later.

Ailonti’s lighter touch landed on her other side. “Remember who you are and what you fight for. And, even more, remember he is only a man. He bleeds on the point of a blade as easily as the rest of us.”

Somehow, that gruesome affirmation soothed her buzzing nerves enough for her to breathe normally again. She even managed a wan smile at the thumbs-up Brinu offered her.

Then her guardians were walking away and she found herself facing the doors alone.

Allura had barely forced herself down the steps and started the process of fretting over whether she should knock when one side swung open on silent hinges. Nothing but gloom greeted her. A sensor run by the castle’s AI, just like her own door, surely. Allowing herself a last gulp, Allura shuffled in before she could remember too many details about what happened to the heroines in the horror movies Lance favored.

Darkness veiled much of the small foyer, but a warm light coming through the arched doorway at the end served as her guide. She made it through without bumping into anything to emerge in a vaulted chamber her Lion could have comfortably stood in. The books caught her attention first. Four sliding ladders leaned against floor to ceiling shelves of dark wood that ran the length of the wall opposite her. Allura’s mouth hung slack like a bumpkin’s at the sight. The Castle of Lions had a library, yes, but not of such magnitude. So many printed books—in fine leather bindings no less—must have amounted to a fortune worth enough to restore a modest city on Arus. Who knew how many digital copies of others Doom’s databanks contained. Or from where, if the foreign characters on many of the books’ spines were any clue.

A series of plush runner rugs bisected the chamber’s parquet flooring, forming a trail off to the left. Each bore something capable of starting a conversation: lighted glass cases of tarnished weapons or fragmented artifacts; stone and metal statues of life-sized Drule figures in various poses; even the massive skull of some nightmarish beast, bristling with a crown of horns and rows of saw-like teeth. Allura wondered whether people who lived on Terra experienced half as much awe when visiting the museums they likely took for granted. She wondered whether she could ever hope to restore such a level of culture to her own people within her lifetime.

“You ought to see the collection on the top two floors of the palace. It’s impressive for its size. Then again, I stole most of it myself from stingy Supremacy hoarders.”

Blood thickening into cold jelly, Allura turned toward the left. A massive window made up the wall at the end of the rectangular room. Against the bleak gray backdrop of Doom’s sky, she could make out a sitting/entertaining area. A sunken firepit crackled in the lower area, part of the warm glow she’d followed from the foyer. Long, low sofas surrounded it, facing each other to encourage conversation. Behind that rose a deck equipped with a dining table capable of seating twenty. In one of the chairs at the ends, watching her, sat Zarkon.

Allura barely recognized him.

For one, he’d taken off his great, spiky crown for the first time she could remember. For another, it turned out he’d been hiding a short crop of white hair beneath it. Well…why not? Lotor had white hair, after all. Only the prince didn’t have a crest that swept back down the middle, following the line of that scaly ridge on Zarkon’s nose. Had it been allowed to grow longer she imagined the full effect would have been almost bird-like, similar to a cockatoo maybe.

She didn’t realize she’d been gawking until he stood, his smile saying he knew the exact ratio of horror to fascination fueling her racing thoughts right then. Along with his crown he’d also shed his usual robes of state in favor of something one of his soldiers might have worn: a simple blue-gray tunic and belted black fatigue pants tucked into scuffed boots. Any notions of a debauched old despot fell to pieces; she couldn’t find one saggy or soft spot anywhere on him, only thick cords of muscle and trim lines throughout the gigantic torso and arms. He probably bench-pressed the damn banquet table in his spare time.

“Come sit down, Allura. I skipped lunch, so I’m starving right about now.”

For an awful moment she thought her feet would remain rooted to the spot. The paralysis passed, allowing some polite instinct to take over and let her scuffle to the dining deck. Her legs shook as she climbed the couple of wooden steps with Zarkon looming directly ahead. When she noticed a place set for her to his right she had to fight a sudden urge to burst into hysterical tears. It didn’t help she could already tell she’d have to hop onto the Drule-sized chair.

Hop she did, though, while keeping her eyes dry no less. She only made a faint choking noise of mindless terror and clutched her dagger’s hilt when he came around to scoot her in, closer to the table. Her toes could just scrape the floor if she flexed her feet down.

Zarkon’s own chair creaked as he settled his titanic frame into it. At least she wasn’t the only one who didn’t quite fit into anything around this place. She started trying to identify and catalogue everything on the table to keep her mind anchored amidst swells of panic. Her large plate was actually more of a shallow basket, woven from some type of natural fiber. Back in her room, Ailonti and Jeyli had explained that utensils, etiquette, and food varied as much as Drule nations, spiritual paths, and class, so she’d be better off learning as she went.

“We eat off these where I was born.” The rumble of his voice almost had her falling out of her chair. She snapped her gaze over to see him wearing a grin that had every sharp tooth in his head on display. Trying to frighten her…or maybe he just always looked that gruesome when he smiled.

“Here.” Lifting the lid from a shallow clay crock, Zarkon picked out a round of brown flatbread and tossed it onto her plate, the edges flopping over the sides. Steam wafted from it, wholesome and warm. Allura’s attention remained riveted to the emperor’s huge, scarred, purple hands as they reached for wooden spoons and more lids, transferring samples of dishes to the surface of her bread.

“None of this will be too much of a shock to your palette,” he explained while he served her. “Nothing is spicy either. You aren’t allergic to fish, are you? Good, have some of these. Don’t worry that they’re whole—they’re so small and simmered so long that they’ll melt right in your mouth. Go on now, don’t act shy. Just tear off bits of the bread to scoop up whatever strikes your fancy. We savage Drule can’t be bothered with all your foo-foo human cutlery. Anyway, it’s too easy to stick a salad fork in someone’s windpipe when the conversation gets heated.”

She continued to stare at him, beyond caring that her mouth hung open in the least ladylike manner possible. He smiled back. Even with his lips closed the effect remained positively ghoulish.

“Lost your appetite? Let me see if I can help settle your stomach and mind then. I didn’t invite you here because I’m interested in fucking or marrying you. Contrary to what Lotor, your Terran friends, and that bulldog nanny of yours has led you to believe, your slit is not, in fact, the cosmic Holy Grail to all malekind. Nor am I contemplating taking your precious people as slaves. And if I wanted you dead your guts would have been mopped up off my throne room floor yesterday. There. Feel better?”

A knot or two did loosen in her guts to her astonishment. “Actually…yes.”

“Peachy. Good talk. Now eat something, damn it, because I’m not going to finish all this off by myself.”

Thus, Allura did, with a will she couldn’t have imagined having five minutes ago. The emperor had proven correct in his assumptions about her tastebuds too; most of the selections had pleasing flavors and textures she could categorize. Starchy mashed legumes or tubers mixed with savory red or yellow spices. Earthy, fibrous stalk vegetables steamed or drizzled in herb-infused oils. Small, seared cubes of meat oozing delicious fat. The tiny fish did indeed melt in her mouth, their salty tang enhancing the sweet sauce they came soaked in. The brown flatbread would have been woefully bland on its own, though she could understand why: its job was to go with everything and maybe keep the stomach settled as well.

Every now and then, her courage levels surged enough for her to sneak a peek at her host. She had to admit, for a gigantic barbarian tyrant Zarkon displayed decent manners. No elbows on the table, a posture even Nanny couldn’t have faulted. He folded his food (heavy on the veggies and meats) neat as could be into pieces of his bread. No dripping, no mess. His teeth snipped off bites with a clean efficiency that made cold sweat prickle along Allura’s hairline each time she was unlucky enough to witness it. Lotor’s pronounced canines did make his grins a bit unsettling, but they’d never triggered a reaction within the primeval animal core of her brain like his father did.

What kind of Drule _was_ Zarkon exactly? They had to have various ethnicities much like humans did from what she’d seen. Although, she didn’t know if the priestesses had softer features on par with Lotor’s because of mixed blood or if they belonged to their own type. What if Yurak had been a hybrid too, only with another non-human species? Perhaps a blended heritage was the norm rather than an exception for Drule. It made sense, given they’d been a spacefaring people centuries before Terrans had reached their own little moon. Then again, how could their genes be adaptable enough to produce viable offspring with multiple lifeforms? The more she wondered, in fact, the narrower and more near-sighted her perspective of the galaxy—of the universe—looked upon reflection.

Of course, her education might have been much broader if someone sitting next to her hadn’t bombed her civilization flat.

Too late, Allura registered that she’d been glaring. Zarkon paused with another morsel halfway to his mouth, gaze abruptly locking with hers. Allura swallowed a frightened apology. She couldn’t afford to back down. Any ground she gave she’d have to fight twice as hard to reclaim. Besides, why should he get to pretend this was merely a friendly get-together?

The thought must have leaked into her expression because the emperor smiled with full-frontal teeth again. “I apologize. Humans typically drink something along with their meals and engage in conversation, I know. Oversights on my part, and I blame my earlier skipped meal for the rudeness. Would you care for some wine or would you prefer water?”

Her first instinct had her mouth open to accept the latter, but a moment’s reassessment made Allura hesitate. “How strong is the wine?”

He cocked his head a bit, eyes glinting. “Strong, for a person of your size. However, I can easily dilute it to a more manageable level.”

She chose not to take that as a comment about human frailty. “Yes, please.” Though her common sense condemned her for a fool, her frazzled nerves blessed her.

“Most of the court prefers Tyrus vintages,” he said while he poured and mixed from two carafes into a simple wooden cup. “Too sweet, in my opinion. I prefer a little bite to remind me what I’m drinking.” With another shark smile, he set the cup next to her plate. “You’ll be relieved to know everyone involved in the process of producing this is paid a living wage.”

Keeping her face locked into neutral, she inspected the startling, sea-green liquid. “Good to know indeed.” She took a sip. While she’d been given few opportunities to drink in the past, Allura conceded he probably hadn’t exaggerated; the wine had a strong kick even watered down, yet left a pleasant coating of warmth from her throat all the way to her belly. Poison crossed her mind briefly, the fear almost a reflex. She brushed it aside. Why would Zarkon wish such a mundane death on her? The more he talked, dragging out the pleasantries, the more her confidence in the priestess’ assessment grew. The old pirate wanted to see what would make her squirm.

“Is this Drule-made?” she asked, determined not to let him score all the points in this game.

“Mostly, though I believe one of the owners is Terran. They operate right here on Korrinoth.” His smile slid wider still at her astonished blinking.

“Korrinoth…that’s the Drule word for Doom, I take it?”

“Oh, no. It means something along the lines of ‘space debris’ or ‘jetsam’. A small joke on the Supremacy’s part about my humble abode.”

“Ah. You grow crops here?”

“Not in the native soil. Some of the water is viable, but most of the surface is hostile to life that didn’t evolve on it. Which is why the general population resides underground. I’m sure Lotor will gladly take you on a promenade through one of our cities once your vaccinations take full effect.”

Logically, Allura knew beyond a doubt he’d had eyes put on anything or anyone connected to her. Hearing proof of it dropped casually in conversation still made the contents of her stomach slither around like a living thing. “I’m sure,” she replied, voice too faint.

Smelling weakness, Zarkon leaned in a bit to check her progress with the food while she fought the urge not to shrink away. He nodded at seeing most of her plate revealed. “Seconds?”

“No…thank you. Everything was excellent.”

“Glad to hear it. I do hope you’ll have a bit of dessert later. As for me, being of a slightly larger build I’m going to need at least one more helping. You’ll forgive my lack of formality in talking business with you while eating?”

The struggle to respond with something other than tossing wine in his mocking face raged within her for several heartbeats. “If chewing with your mouth open is the worst crime I can expect from you, then I think I can manage.” Her stiff jaw barely let the words out.

Emperor Zarkon fell back in his distressed chair and let out a booming laugh that shook Allura’s bones. Fingers clamped on her dagger’s hilt, she wished she knew where to strike to pierce the heart and not get the blade stuck in the ribcage.

Once the storm of his amusement passed, the old tyrant went about helping himself to more bread and food. “Let’s get right to the nitty-gritty. I heard through the grapevine that Arus is in a kerfuffle with the Alliance.”

He really had stuck his scaly nose into anything he could. Again, she’d expected it, but hearing her business come up so casually gave her chills over what he might know yet was keeping in his pocket for a rainy day. She took another sip of wine to collect herself. “Yes…apparently the Alliance believes you mean to wrest control of Voltron from me and go on a rampage across the universe. Can’t imagine why.”

Zarkon snorted. “That’s the excuse they’re plastering all over their news feeds, yes, I’m aware. A justification to come in and take what they’ve wanted for years.” He raised an…well, actually, now that she paid attention she noticed he didn’t _have_ proper eyebrows. Just two sets of thick black lines tattooed onto his face, one pair arching up from his eyes and curving across his brow ridges, the other mirroring those from below. Tribal markings? She hadn’t the faintest idea. But he raised one at her bulging stare.

“Oh, yes. I keep a close eye on what our Terran neighbors are up to at all times. I don’t even really need to employ agents to track developments—although, of course, I do. Terra’s social networks offer me a smorgasbord of government leaks, rumors to follow up on, and sentiments to exploit in real time. Not to mention funny animal vids when I need a break. I trust you know what social networks are though you’ve never had an opportunity to join in on the fun. Not since I crippled Arus’ mass communication options.”

She twitched at hearing his crimes brought up so baldly. An eerie twin of Lotor’s sardonic smirk appeared on the emperor’s alien face.

“We may as well stop tiptoeing around our history, Allura. Not if we’re going to be seeing a good deal more of each other.” His fin-like ears swiveled toward her a fraction. “And we are, aren’t we?”

She could practically hear him tightening the screws. Forcing her focus through the tornado of nameless terrors and revenge fantasies ripping through her mind, Allura somehow stumbled into a center of relative calm. “I would need to know more about this before I could say.” Opening her hand, she showed off the fresh layer of (blue, funnily enough) synthskin covering the slice across her palm.

“My son didn’t explain, eh?”

“He mentioned something about it making me…part of the family.” Without a bit of alcohol in her system she doubted she could have uttered such a thing.

He chewed on another bite of his second helping and shrugged one Atlas-sized shoulder. “In a manner of speaking. It amounted to bit of showmanship on my part, but it had its practical applications too. Namely, such a gesture told my court that whoever fucks with you fucks with me now. It’ll keep a good portion of them from trying to kill you outright, at least for the time being. The rest…well, it might just serve as extra motivation.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Several reasons. Some of them want to either marry Lotor themselves or pair their children with him for a higher position. Others would prefer to clear a path to the throne by killing Lotor and me—”

“ _No._ I mean why play at protecting me? Why didn’t you just finish the job you started, since we’re being _honest_ here?”

She might have been a cute kitten hissing at him from the way he tilted his head with a smile. “I’m an unscrupulous asshole, Allura, not a moron. Whatever I do, count on it being in the name of my own benefit or pleasure. If I’d blown you and Lotor to bloody chunks when you bumped into my armada that would have made it easier for those who want my throne, not to mention destabilized the empire by eliminating its only heir. If I’d killed you in the throne room Lotor would have started a civil war, meaning I’d have to end him too—which equals all those previously mentioned downsides.”

“You didn’t seem terribly concerned about my death when you had fleets drop by Arus to bomb it every couple of years.”

“Surprise—I wasn’t.” He narrowed his reptilian eyes. “Not until Lotor returned to Korrinoth and got a permanent hard-on for you. Then I had to put up with him wasting resources just to go harass you with proposals on a regular basis. Threatening Arus with incineration proved to be the kick in the ass he needed. You can’t imagine what a relief it was to hear he’d finally fucking dragged you here by the hair. Now you can finally be of some real use to me. Your beloved Arus will even benefit in the bargain.”

Allura had believed she knew how dangerous Zarkon was. How ruthless and evil. All she knew now was how laughable her presumptions had been. Zarkon wasn’t the cartoonish villain who ruled by fear and brutality alone she’d always pictured. No, he exceeded expectations by leagues. He schemed. He adapted. He deftly took advantage of every weakness or mistake he sniffed out.

Arus amounted to nothing more than a grain of sand in his eye. An annoyance but no real threat. Same with her and the guys. The old pirate had built an empire she didn’t even know the full parameters of and played on a scale where they were only pawns to him. In short, he’d been busy doing all the things she should have done over the years as ruler of Arus, minus the slavery, piracy, and murder parts.

Whether she _wanted_ to hear any offers from him didn’t matter. Her people suffered and she had nothing to show them for it. If she truly wanted to change that, to become more than a piece on the board, she had to buy into the game at any price.

“What did you have in mind?” The question glided off her tongue, not a ruffle in her composure. Survival instinct freezing her emotions solid most likely.

Zarkon analyzed her for a minute, lips pressed thin, hellfire eyes tracing the lines of her face. “Put simply, I want you to be my spokesperson to the Alliance.” Catching the flutter of confusion she let slip, he sighed. “I have no intention of invading worlds anymore—at least not the traditional way. It’s unsustainable. My empire needs more than territory and raw resources now. It needs strong trade ties to other powers. Plus, human ingenuity is just the thing to save Drules from the rut the Supremacy has us in. Working together, I wouldn’t be surprised if time machines and vacationing in other dimensions became commonplace within a couple of generations.”

“The Alliance will never trade with you,” she said, not as resolved as she’d thought after all. “Not when you keep sentient beings as slaves.”

His tattooed eyebrow lines reared up again. “I’ve been weaning the empire off of slavery for the past year now.”

For the first time she could recall, Allura sputtered. Zarkon snorted and pushed his plate away, reaching for the wine.

“I know Terra won’t play ball if open slavery is still an institution within my borders. Anyway, it’s a drain on the economy. Free labor was useful while building my fleets and mining lazon, but we’ve reached a level of stability. I need taxes and consumers at this stage. Ergo, my five-year plan to integrate slaves back into society as law-abiding, tax paying citizens.”

She’d been wrong. Dead wrong. She couldn’t bear to help this monster. If let loose he would devour the universe whole. “Terra won’t buy your act. Nothing will change the fact you’re a heartless tyrant who—”

Another grisly grin slashed across his visage. “ _Please_ , Allura. Have you fucking read any Terran history? They care about _looking_ the part, nothing else. Having the abolition of slavery on my resume will be more than good enough for anyone who matters.” He took a swig of wine. “Some of the rabble will kick up shit, oh sure. But that’s why I have you. You’re going to be the spoonful of sugar that makes the bullshit go down. They’ll buy anything from a pretty, blonde, blue-eyed princess, even if it comes from a fuck-ugly Drule half-breed.”

Allura felt trapped in a dunk tank, getting dropped into icy water as each new revelation hit. Zarkon a half-Drule? Well, that answered her musings about his heritage while raising ten times as many. Questions that could definitely go on the _Not Urgent_ pile.

Instead, she steered her mind toward the layout of his schemes. With a wretched, sinking pull in her belly she realized he’d calculated his moves wisely. What could win him more merit than having the daughter of the royal family he’d butchered speaking on his behalf? Add to that if she married Lotor to boot. Children of bitter enemies, Drule and human, oppressor and oppressed, forging peace with their union and ushering in a new era…people would lap those headlines up. There’d be press coverage of the wedding. Film and book deals.

“Damn you.” Her voice had gone so low and vicious she barely recognized it. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?”

He wagged a clawed finger at her. “I simply turned obstacles into opportunities, Allura. A quality the Terrans appreciate, as you’ll see.”

“What’s in this for Arus?”

Swirling the wine in his cup, he stared into it as if scrying the future from its surface. “I will fully restore Arus and make reparations to its people. Roads, communications, housing, schools, places of business and worship, parks, hospitals—especially the hospitals. You might have been too young to remember, but medical tech and research were Arus’ bread and butter before your parents pissed me off.”

She managed to swallow her retort without gagging. “And Voltron?”

Zarkon drained his cup and went for a refill. A little premature victory celebration. “Haggar and her team of engineering wizards will study it and the Lions to glean whatever tech advances they can. These will be used for our own purposes as well as selling products to the Terrans.”

“Products like weapons, you mean.”

He glared down his ridged nose at her. “Don’t be stupid, girl. _We’ll_ keep the military applications for ourselves. The rest of it—the vehicles, the new models of comms, the entertainment systems, and whatnot—all the delightful, frivolous inventions can be used in commerce. Terrans _love_ gadgets.”

Allura willed the angle of her shoulders and chin to a defiant poise. “And if I refuse?”

Lifting the cup, Zarkon took his time drinking deep while staring at her over the rim. A red tongue flicked out across his bottom lip when he finished. She could hardly believe it hadn’t been forked. “I’ll let your imagination fill in the gaps. Suffice to say, my methods of persuasion tend to leave marks. And I’m sure me paying a social call to one or two your nearest and dearest would go a long way toward changing your mind.”

Since sliding out of her Drule-sized chair would have yielded ridiculous results—the table came nearly to her chest—Allura stood right up on it. For probably the first time in his life Zarkon knew what it felt like to have someone tower over him.

“Harm a single person under my care and I’ll hand Voltron to the Alliance with a bow on top. You won’t gain a thing from me or them except a more powerful set of enemies.”

The lines inked around his eyes made the way they popped wide, pupils spreading, almost comical. Owlish really. Hadn’t expected her to think of a loophole, had he? A burst of confidence warmed Allura’s chilled heart.

Then she realized the old tyrant’s outraged stare lingered nowhere near her face. Instead, it fell at her waist. She had a second to remember the dagger hanging there before he lurched to his feet, chair crashing over behind him. Zarkon lunged, a blur of blue and white. Blunt impact slammed her dead center in the chest. She flew from her perch, taking none of her breath along for the ride. Fireworks of pain crackled in her spine and skull as she hit the parquet floor, bashing the back of her head. Black blotches splattered across her vision like spilled ink.

By the time they cleared, Zarkon had her pinned, one knee crushing her solar plexus. Frantic for air, Allura clawed at his leg. Not until he dug his fingers into her hair, yanked her head back, and pressed something cold and metallic to her throat did she go still. With dazed detachment, she figured he’d pulled her own dagger on her. Probably just shamed her seven ways to Sunday too. Ailonti would be so disappointed at the funeral.

“ _Where did you get this?_ ” His voice grated and growled so harshly she barely understood him. Or maybe that had more to do with lack of air. Daring to strain her eyes toward him, she saw no signs of humanity remaining in his features; his face had morphed into nothing but sharp teeth, snarling lips, and a flat, pitiless gaze. The white stubble coating his scalp stood straight up as though electrified, longer center strands sticking out like quills.

“Lotor,” Allura managed to wheeze. Her thoughts had started to melt into a hazy swirl. Dimly, she registered the tickle of liquid dripping down her neck.

“This was meant for her _—no one else._ You aren’t half the warrior she was. From what I’ve seen, you never will be.”

Allura had no idea what such an insult meant. She did understand one thing, however: He was about to cut her throat or suffocate her if she just laid there and let him. With the only weapon left to her she lashed out.

“Go on,” she croaked, head pounding, hating to waste precious oxygen on him. “Do it. Be an asshole _and_ a moron. Kill me.”

The cold bite of metal sank a fraction deeper into her throat. More hot trickles scurried along the skin beneath her jaw and into her hair. The pressure on her chest increased until she feared her ribs would snap like wickerwork.

As swiftly as he’d knocked her flat, Zarkon ripped the dagger’s case from her middle and rose to his feet in one vicious motion. Ruthless intelligence had taken up residence in his gaze once more, joined by searing contempt. “Get out of my sight, you precious tart. You go to work for me as soon as the Alliance starts howling at Arus’ doorstop. Be ready or I’ll make you wish to every god you can name that I’d killed you along with your gold-digging mother and limp dick father.” He shoved the _sahj_ back into its sheath with a solid _clink_.

Maybe if she hadn’t been bleeding and gasping to regain her breath Allura could have made a stinging comeback. As it was, she had her work cut out for her just struggling up onto her wobbling legs. His baleful stare followed her stumbling course to the door while she tried not to turn her back. Somehow, she got her battered body to cooperate enough to navigate the stairs back into the hall.

Lotor shoved himself off the wall he’d been slouched against the moment she reached the top.

They froze in tandem. He took in the blood running down her neck, the absence of the weapon at her side. She noted the ragged state of his nails—he’d been gnawing them, she knew—along with the three priestesses hanging further back in the corridor. Had they grown concerned and filled Lotor in on her whereabouts? Had he made them confess what was going on? In either case, his feelings about the matter presented no mystery.

His features might have been prettier, but there could be no mistake about the family resemblance in Lotor’s expression of all-consuming rage. Instead of being directed her way, though, it found its target in Zarkon’s doors. His lazon sword made the air hum as he drew it and stalked toward the stairs. Once again, Allura’s instincts told her only immediate action could ward off destruction.

“Lotor.”

Her voice rasped and barely rose above a whisper, but it proved enough. He halted mid-stride.

Allura licked her mummy-dry lips. “Lotor, I’m very, very tired. Will you please escort me to my room?”

Whatever war his priorities waged against each other ended when he turned her way again. The fury in his face crumpled, his skin leeching to a ghastly gray tone that reminded her of a drowned man. He took a step in her direction, reaching out. Faltered. Searched her body language. She made it easy for him by limping over and looping her arm through his.

Side by side, Allura could feel the promise of violence still thrumming through every one of his muscles. Yet his hold on her remained gentle throughout their arduous walk to the elevator; he tailored his long strides to accommodate her aching pace. Without a word, the priestesses guarded their retreat from the rear.

Allura, Princess of Arus, left her first duel with Emperor Zarkon of the Galra Empire in the last way she could have imagined. Bleeding she’d suspected. Rattled to the core and sick with dread had been a given. But, for once, even remotely grateful that Lotor hadn’t been able to leave her alone? Well. That would go down as a new one in the record books.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Large male character physically assaulting and threatening a smaller female character. I just wanted to let anyone who's triggered by this type of scenario know ahead of time and decide whether it's appropriate to read for themselves.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor and Allura have a long talk that leads to a decision about both their futures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, everyone! Sorry about the skipped update last month. Got caught up doing another project until the last minute, along with moving, training for my next rank in martial arts, that kind of non-Interwebz stuff. But the next chapter is finally here! It's a bit of a turning point for the story, so I hope you find it enjoyable. There's still a ways to go, of course, but, um, we're getting somewhere? I do have a direction and plan for this fic, I swear, even if it's nebulous in spots. ^^; Anyway, don't hesitate to let me know what you think either here or on Tumblr (https://carlychameleon.tumblr.com)/, if you're into that sort of thing. 
> 
> Shout outs to MadelineL, CrimsonClover, darkelf19, PadawanMaxineKenobi, Lizarr, Greenwren, teambusan, YsaX64, Goth_Loturas, kickenitloose, 0rigo, The_Cat_Whisperer, Preisteshon, skaryxx, IndiiBrownFlowerCrown, seekingserenity, MrsKohakuSato, tisifone21, TiffanyBlue, DifferentDances, I_cloudy, ItCameFromTheDeep, Lightning_Strikes_Again, spaceChai, Erisethx, Andelevion, Malevoliss, Geeeny, FlightFright, tuonetar, niokaito, luandemoona, DinG_dOnG_bEacH, Lpsfan100, yeet-on-them-haters, and everyone who's taken the time out of their lives to read, comment, bookmark, or give kudos to this slow, slow fic. I really appreciate you guys sticking it out for so long. :D

_Love is stronger than hate._ Minutes ago, Lotor knew only fools who’d never been on the working end of a blaster or blade believed such tripe. Now, with Allura’s small hand clinging to his arm being the sole reason he didn’t rush back to his father’s lair, he amended other types of idiots were susceptible too.

He dared not look at Allura on the way back to her room. No need to test just how much more of a fuckup he could be. She needed him present. Clear-headed. A rock in the receding waves of chaos. The fact she needed him at all, though, caused his head to swim from a cocktail of his sweetest dreams laced with his harshest nightmares. Figured. Nothing stayed simple where she was concerned. Then again, he wouldn’t have risked his father’s wrath and made himself the butt of the empire’s jokes if he’d wanted it any other way, would he?

At her door, Lotor stabbed in the keycode with his free hand before turning a glower on their Inalkai Kuhalth tail. The younger women’s white robes rustled as they shifted like animals who smelled a nearby predator. Ailonti, as usual, gave away all the reaction of a tree stump.

“You never should have let her go,” he growled in Court Drule, determined to see guilt, shame, sorrow—anything to prove the woman understood what she’d almost cost him.

“The last thing this girl needs is another set of people sweeping away her decisions to make room for their own,” came the reply, sharp and quick as a whipcrack. “She was hurt, yes. She was frightened. But she also faced an enemy that’s destroyed people with wealth, power, and experience a hundred times greater than she’s ever known. She did it standing on her own legs and with valor. Be a man and pay her the respect she’s due.”

“I’ve never doubted her bravery or honor! But neither of those admirable qualities stopped my father from nearly killing her! What she needed were bodyguard—”

Ailonti’s crow of scornful laughter cut him off. “I didn’t mean Zarkon, fool. I meant she faced the _truth._ But, now that you mention it, she came out alive after confronting _both._ Imagine that.” She leaned forward, the better to pin him with her glare. “So, get in there and tend her wounds— _all_ of them—now that the battle’s over. Be a man, damn you, or cut off your balls and offer them on Grussenth’s altar if you insist on being useless.”

The rebuke stung on every level. Bristling, Lotor opened his mouth to retaliate.

“Don’t be mad at them,” Allura whispered, most likely saving him from greater humiliation. “They did the best they could to help me. I insisted on going without telling you.”

Little tremors vibrated through her body and into his. With a jolt, he realized his arm had tightened around her hand. Lotor immediately forced his muscles to ease up a few notches, then turned away from Ailonti’s gloating sneer. Fucking _Inalkai Kuhalth._ They got under his skin worse than Haggar.

“Here, let’s go inside,” he said in a voice too sheepish and small to be his own. “I’ll call the doctor to…to take a look.”

When she didn’t protest he led the way, letting the door cut them off from the three priestesses. To his relief, the medkit he’d brought to dress the gash on her palm the other day hadn’t disappeared. After getting Allura to sink into a chair by the window and notifying the medical department they were required, Lotor grabbed it from the nightstand.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He blinked at her, sure he’d misheard.

“Really. It’s fine. I’m all right,” Allura told him, or maybe herself. Shock had leeched the vital color from her face, the pitch of emotion from her voice, leaving her like a wax doll. How many times had she hidden behind those words when tragedy carved another scar on her heart? When she gave up her own comfort and happiness for that of others? When her desires and opinions were tossed aside or overruled by those who claimed to care for her?

“No, Allura,” he replied in that voice not quite his. “No, it isn’t all right. My father almost killed you and it’s my fault.”

The contents of the kit rattled from how hard his hands shook. He struggled to harness his blazing emotions into fuel for forging useful words or purposeful action as the masters of _Jui Kuhalth_ taught. But too much poured in at once, melting his thoughts into a bubbling mess. They shattered and streamed out of any mold he attempted to shape them in. He fought to hold back the scalding wave of unsmelted feeling that flooded his eyes. It smeared his vision until the world became an abstract collage of blotchy forms and hues. Though he had to appear insane, Lotor stretched the limits of his eyelids to the fullest, praying it would be enough to prevent the flood from overflowing onto his cheeks.

In the end, he could only smith a single word. An unpolished one whose ragged edges tore at his throat on the way out.

“Please, Allura. _Please._ ”

He had a full, awful moment of teetering on the brink of collapse before the smudge of gold that represented her head bobbed in what he took for a nod. Lotor was treated to another jarring space in time where he had to scramble to remember what he’d been doing. Medkit. Right. Put it on the table. Open. Antibiotic and pain relief spray, there. Not enough gauze pads. Fine. Get a towel from the bathroom. Wipe his damn face before going back out where she could see him.

Her eyes followed him as he reemerged with the dampened towel. He refrained from looking at her, letting his composure set as much as possible while he gathered the supplies from the table. Coming to her chair, he knelt at her feet. He thought he’d settled back into a sense of normality until he glanced at her hands. Red splattered the backs of them like a rash, drying in tacky patches. More caked the crevices around and under her nails. A fresh supply steadily seeped and dripped from between the fingers pressed against her throat. Lotor’s stomach convulsed, threatening to send back the portion of dinner he’d managed to eat before the priestesses had fetched him.

He’d seen worse. Much worse. Bodies hacked or blown to pieces. Walls of the dead, stacked dozens high. Corpses of adults, children, and animals bloated and rotting under alien suns, being gnawed at by vermin. But this was Allura. His Allura. She was meant to be happy, healthy, overflowing with life and energy.

And yet here she sat, bleeding and battered despite his most sincere efforts, all because of a careless oversight. Anything he did twisted around to bite him directly on the ass. What else to do, though? Leave her to fend for herself? Send her back to Arus?

_Be a man._

Understanding began to pierce the fog of resentment clumped around Ailonti’s words. What made a man? The face of Grussenth, which he’d seen countless times walking through the throne room doors, provided the clues. Like all his people’s deities, Grussenth presided over a set of polar extremes: the unyielding authority of Dominion and abject self-denial of Servitude. Ailonti had invoked the god’s name in his popular aspect of patron of masculinity. Reviewing just about any of his interactions with Allura up to that point, Lotor got a sense of why.

He’d played the part of Dominion with her from the start. Relentlessly pursuing her. Boasting and taunting. Attempting to impress her with displays of physical prowess and daring as if she were a fellow Drule warrior. After all, Allura wore a crown of her own. She charged into battle to defend her claims. He’d believed his behavior would resonate and she’d respond appropriately despite her human origins.

Except she hadn’t, of course. His actions had invoked nothing but fear—even horror and disgust. Undaunted, he’d started throwing in touches of Servitude, hoping that would smooth over his blunders and appeal to her sensibilities. Offers of his wealth, his throne, to elevate her above anything else in his life. Those had been spurned as vehemently—maybe more—than Dominion’s. At a loss, Lotor had gone on to flip-flop between the two in what must have been the most manic courtship in history. Even his latest gesture of feeding Arus information and putting his life in Allura’s hands (acts he’d fancied as the height of devotion) had been more of the same. Ill-timed, offered in desperation and self-ignorance, and ruined by overriding her will anyway. Abducting her might have saved hers and millions of other lives, yes. But it wouldn’t have been necessary if he’d simply come to her as a man to begin with. If he’d just offered an honest line of negotiation and listened to her terms. Instead, his ego had fucked the situation beyond redemption every bit as much as their family legacies had.

Being a man—a _person,_ when it came right down to the matter—had nothing to do with embodying one extreme or another. Haggar had tried to explain that to him while handing over his mother’s _sahj._ He hadn’t listened, not really. He’d believed, as usual, that he could still bend Allura, his father, and the entire situation to his will. The blood staining her hands proved he had exactly nothing under control. Everyone had been right. He was a fool like in the old children’s story: chasing the sun around the world until he tripped over a rock and fell off a cliff instead of letting it come to him in its own way.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, drawing on all his reserves of raw nerve to look into her glassy blue eyes while he did so. “I’ve wronged you. I’ve wronged your people. Tell me what you want in reparation and if it’s in my power I’ll see it done.”

Slowly, her gaze cleared. Beneath the circlet she wore her brow furrowed while possibilities ran through her mind. Lotor kept himself from squirming by picking up the damp towel from the bathroom and dabbing at the blood on her free hand. When she didn’t pull away or protest he went to it with more vigor. He wiped down her slender fingers, around her neat little nails. Flipped the whole thing over to swab off the palm he’d once again put his life into. It would be easy, _smart_ , for her to demand he either get himself killed by fighting his father or take her back to Arus where he could be kept as a political prisoner. She could hand him over to the Alliance as a bargaining chip, gain their support in exchange for allowing them to torture military and tech secrets out of him. Meanwhile, his absence in the empire would spark a blood-soaked scramble for his father’s throne among nobles and ambitious commoners alike. A tidy revenge all around and a fate he’d sown long ago.

“Did you know about your father’s plans?”

He jumped a bit, dropping her hand and blinking at her appraising stare. “Plans? For what exactly? Father schemes even in his sleep.”

“The ones about using me and Voltron to forge a trade agreement with the Terran Alliance.”

Lotor didn’t give in to the urge to rip out two fistfuls of his hair though it was strong. “ _What?_ ”

Her face relaxed a tad before she went into a rundown of the dinner discussion. His brain stewed in bubbling rage when she got to the part about the old man using the threat to blow up Arus to goad him into nabbing Allura. He should have seen it. His father never would have tolerated such a long string of failures from him unless the bastard knew he’d gain worthwhile rewards from being patient. _He should have known._

“You really did try to protect us, didn’t you? In your own way. Zarkon told me as much.” Her voice had sunk even lower, thoughtful.

“For all the good it did anyone.” Red stained his own fingers as he gripped the damp towel.

A beat of silence. “Who did the dagger belong to?”

The copper taste of blood coated his tongue and made his stomach roll uneasily again. He tossed the towel onto the table with a grimace. “My mother. Or it would have, if she’d married my father. I never intended for you to keep it—I planned to have another made as soon as possible. Haggar gave me that one before…before I brought you here. As a reminder of where I come from, is what she said.” A growl slipped out of his throat. “If I find out that damn witch set things up so my father would see you wearing the _sahj_ …”

“What happened to her?”

His ferocity sputtered and fizzled in the wake of her almost gentle tone. He kept his lips sealed and his head down. He didn’t want to witness the transformation the truth would bring out.

“Your mother, Lotor,” she went on. “What happened to her?” From the note of dread that had slipped in it sounded like she already had a fairly good idea.

Well, if she insisted and he’d sworn to give her whatever she asked for… “My father killed her. I was there, in the throne room, when he did it. I’d turned five a few weeks ago.”

The fingers holding her bloodied throat shifted as she swallowed hard. When he dared to peek up, the blue of her eyes had darkened, shifting and shimmering behind a sheen of rising tears. Only the rest of her face allowed him to hold that gaze. It hadn’t gone mushy with pity or contorted in horror. The lines stayed firm and strong. Accepting. Respecting. Even understanding.

“I never thought…” She stopped to take a shuddering breath. “I never considered what it might have been like growing up here. With…with him. I’ve obsessed about what he did to my own family, to Arus, to me. But I never spared a thought for what he might have done to his own people.” Some color rushed back into her cheeks as she looked away. “I guess…I guess maybe I thought of the Drule as just some evil hoard that lived and died by violence anyway. I never imagined any of you being children, spouses, siblings, friends. I assumed none of you could hurt because Zarkon couldn’t.”

“Father isn’t quite as impervious as you imagine. If he has one crack in his armor it would be Vasya, as you’ve recently discovered.” An old memory shook the dust off itself and came forward. “Make that two: his own mother, now that I think of it. Never insult her, even in a general way.” Many had found that out the hard way when attributing Zarkon’s appearance to…adventurous…sexual encounters between her and various creatures.

“Vasya…was that your mother’s name?”

“Yes. Commander Vasilisa Mikhailovna Drozdova, originally of Terra.” Saying after so many years was like setting a dislocated joint: breath-stoppingly painful yet accompanied by a sense of relief.

“Commander.” Allura’s expression had become all eyes. “She must have fought in the first Border Wars then. Before the Alliance puled back and left Arus, Zaal, Pollux, and the rest of us to fend for ourselves. I always figured…” Thinking better of it, she bit her lip.

“Figured what?”

She wriggled in her seat a bit, glancing away. “I don’t remember anyone ever talking about Zarkon having a wife—or a son, for that matter. When you showed up on Arus, making your demands—” she threw him a scathing frown “—we just figured your mother had been…been a slave. Or maybe another Drule, but that she was considered culturally unimportant. Nobody ever talked about Drule women either, so I guess the assumption was that they were second class citizens kept in seclusion.” A little laugh puffed out of her. “Little did we suspect.”

“Mother was already dead by the time Father set his sights on Arus. He’d sent me away to various academies and noble houses immediately after she’d passed. He talked to me about it while we waited for the shuttle that would take me to the first new lodging to show up.” He’d kneaded the stained towel into a soggy ball by that point. “Or he tried to talk to me. He wasn’t exactly coherent or maybe I was just too young and terrified to remember it clearly enough. That’s mostly what I recall about the conversation: the fear that he was going to kill me too even though he’d knelt down to my level and kept repeating that he’d done it for me and I’d be all right.”

“My God.” The words came out muffled with her hand pressed over her mouth. She closed her eyes a minute, took a shaky breath. When she looked at him again, the thing he’d dreaded had infiltrated her features.

Lotor’s spine stiffened. “No, Allura. Don’t pity me. My life can’t be reduced to a sob story—nothing is that simple.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know. But there’s much more to these past events than what happened on the surface, as I found out over the years.” He paused. “As I’m coming to realize even now. And honestly, Father sending me away had been the best decision he’d ever made as a parent. I learned more in those years than I could have from tutors in the palace. And I made friends, especially in the first household to foster me. They were—still are—cultural researchers, particularly on the subject of Terra. They had two children: a son about my age and a daughter a bit younger. The boy and I remain friends to this day—although he might be a tad annoyed with me at present. I know I’m on his sister’s shit list. His name is Saffrin.”

Allura’s jaw fell in a most unprincessly manner. “Wait, Saffrin? As in your second-in-command whom we have prisoner on Arus?”

“The same.”

Her former sympathy shriveled up into severe disapproval. Lotor breathed easier to see it and had to squash the urge to smile. “I was told you wouldn’t negotiate for his release. Lotor, how could you? If he’s truly your friend like you claim, he risked his life for your crazy kidnapping gambit.” Her frown dug deeper lines around her mouth. “Which succeeded, I might add. And you repay him by leaving him to rot in a cell?”

A laugh leapt out of him before he could cut it off. “Your concern on Saffrin’s behalf is noble, my sweet, but said cell is on _Arus._ What’s the worst that might befall him at your household’s dastardly hands? Your Nanny denying him dessert? Your lieutenant calling him names?”

Her face went as red as said lieutenant’s Lion. When Lotor set the wadded towel aside and took her half-cleaned hands in his she flushed darker still, putting the captain’s flight suit to shame.

“Saffrin volunteered to help me. To help you and Arus too, actually. We arranged things so in the event of his capture he’d be in a position to offer aid against my father. He can activate and command any of the forces loyal to me, plus he knows empire tactics inside and out.” A final bonus included him being out of the old tyrant’s personal reach. No more nasty surprises when coming home.

“Had it all worked out, didn’t you?” She sounded disgruntled rather than resentful.

“Say the word and I’ll negotiate for his release.”

“Even if Arus demands me in exchange?” The skepticism in her tone hurt, but Lotor couldn’t complain at that point. He’d sown that mistrust. Even now he had to fight the urge not to justify his actions—to impose his will on the situation, bend it toward his own desires.

“If that’s what you want,” he replied through a grimace.

His obvious pain mollified her somewhat. Her posture relaxed back into her chair.

“Who is she?”

Lotor gave her a lost stare.

“Commander Saffrin’s sibling. You mentioned he had a younger sister.”

“Ah. You’ve already been introduced.”

She sucked in a short, sharp breath. “One of the priestesses?” Glancing up, she did some swift, silent accounting in her head. “Jeyli. It’s Jeyli, isn’t it? Brinu’s fairly young, as far as I can tell, but Jeyli’s the one who seems to be miffed at you, now that I think about it.”

“Nothing slips past your notice, my sweet.”

A dint appeared between her golden brows. “Don’t call me—”

“Dr. Mezar Nagan at the door, Princess,” announced the castle AI.

Saved by the ping. Lotor sprang to his feet and turned away so Allura wouldn’t catch his smirk. “Let him in.”

The computer hesitated. If it’d had any sort of physical form it would have been looking to Allura.

“Yes, let him in I suppose,” she said. The hot spot Lotor swore he felt boring in between his shoulder blades like a laser beam told him she’d leveled another glare at him.

After two steps inside and one look at the belligerent, blood-speckled princess, Dr. Nagan froze in his tracks. His attention ricocheted to Lotor, demanding an explanation.

“Negotiations with the emperor over dinner became tense.” Allura spoke before either man had a chance to speak, the heat of true anger smoldering in her words.

Lotor wondered whether she’d ever realize just how much watching her reach out and seize command of a situation turned him on.

The royal physician, attention now squarely on her, sighed and nodded with weary understanding. It would hardly be his first time treating a patient for such a thing. “May I take a look?”

Assent was given with a curt nod. Nagan had her throat wiped clean and the cut declared “not too serious” within a minute.

“Keeping out infection is the biggest concern,” he said while brushing a clear antibiotic and sealant onto the slice. “Try to be mindful while moving your head so you don’t reopen the wound. Also, keep your hair away from it. Hair can pick up all sorts of microbes.” He finished up by smoothing a long strip of blue synthskin across her throat. At that rate she’d look more Drule than human by month’s end.

“Doctor, is your people’s anatomy similar to mine? A human’s, I mean?”

The sudden question knocked both Nagan and Lotor off their mental balances.

“Well, yes,” the former managed to answer. “Drules, in general, tend to be of a larger build, and our five physical senses are slightly more acute, but overall the differences are purely cosmetic. We are, in reality, different breeds of the same species on a genetic level. You’re familiar with Seeding Theory, I assume?”

“Oh, yes. I just wanted to be sure. What about someone only part Drule, though? Like the emperor? Can we reproduce with anything that might result in a person who’s immune to poison or won’t die after being stabbed in a vital organ? ”

Nagan’s face went sickly-gray fast enough for Lotor to take a step toward him, worried the man might faint. Even as he admired her boldness, Lotor mentally cursed and loudly cleared his throat.

“Thank you for you help, Doctor. Does she need anything else?’

“Ah…no. No. I’ll…I’ll just leave some ointment and fresh sythskin.” Taking off his glasses, Nagan cleaned them on his shirt. Presumably so he couldn’t see Allura dissecting him with her gaze. After putting the promised items on the table he couldn’t scurry from the room fast enough.

“Allura.” Her name left Lotor on a sigh.

He knew what a small animal must have gone through under the hungry eyes of a predator when she turned his way. “You’re hiding something.”

“No. I’m protecting a good man. Dr. Nagan is trustworthy, so it makes sense you’d ask him questions. But you’re going to have to learn that certain ones are dangerous, even among allies.”

She blinked, uncertainty dousing her anger. “Will he get in trouble?”

“Not in this case since he isn’t going to tell anyone the Princess of Arus was wondering whether the emperor can be assassinated like the rest of us mortal peons. Which, by the way, he can’t—he’s immune to certain poisons. I don’t know about wounds, unfortunately. Anyway, if Nagan were the type who saw an advantage in ratting you out…”

The way she went ashen proved how quickly she caught on. “Oh. What and who else should I avoid talking about?”

“Aside from my mother, and Father’s parentage or anatomy?” Lotor tapped his foot on the floor, thinking. “Your own family. Everyone knows what happened to them, but you’ll be disappointed in how little sympathy they hold on the matter.”

“What? Why? Surely Zarkon has devastated Drule families. Why wouldn’t anyone be able to relate?”

He’d walked right into this one, but Lotor couldn’t suppress a grimace. “You won’t like the answer.”

“There’s _plenty_ I don’t like about any of this. What’s one more thing?”

None of the rest of it had been personal, though. Still, he’d promised…He plunged ahead before he could try to dodge the subject. “How much do you remember about Arus before my father attacked?”

“Not a lot, not with clarity, I admit. Tall buildings making up the cities, personal and public transports zipping around on multiple levels in the air. Except for the architecture styles our cities weren’t all that different from Terra’s. We did tend to preserve a great deal of the land’s natural beauty too, even in the urban centers. It all feels like memories from a dream now. Indistinct around the edges, more impressions than anything. Sometimes I wonder if I just filled in the gaps with pictures of other human colonies I’ve seen.”

“You know what Arus’ claim to fame was, however? Aside from the rediscovery of Voltron?”

“Medical technology and technique. People used to come from all over the Denubian Galaxy to be treated on Arus.” Her nostrils flared briefly, like she’d caught a foul scent on the air. “Your father sounded particularly interested in restoring that function to us.”

Unease played with the hairs on the back of Lotor’s neck, causing him to hesitate. Allura pounced on it, the blue of her eyes darkening.

“Just spit it out.”

He still had to take a moment to wrestle the truth from his old habit of wanting to control her reactions. “That’s…interesting. See, part of what sowed the feud between our fathers—from the version I’ve heard, you understand—was medical tech. Allegedly, my father sold a good deal of Supremacy-developed equipment and knowledge to Arus. Which, more than breaking ranks with them, ensured he’d never be welcomed back. To make matters uglier, Arus refused to pay up for services rendered. Also, allegedly.”

“That’s impossible.” The high color in her cheeks was as good as a thrown gauntlet.

Lotor folded his arms across his chest, accepting the challenge and settling into more of a comfort zone. Her anger had become a familiar friend long ago. “Which is impossible? That my father would sell anything to yours, or the noble Alfor would renege on a deal?”

 “Both! Either! My father was an honorable man. He always kept his promises. He never would have dealt with a slaver and despot, much less cheated one.” The way her bottom lip stuck out bordered dangerously close to sulky. Ah, so part of her did believe. He could work with that.

“Alfor was also a king with a family and world to look out for. You think he never had to make concessions? Never made mistakes? Never misjudged?”

“Of course he did, but he wouldn’t—”

“Do you remember my father ever being a guest on Arus?”

Her mouth clicked closed so fast Lotor was afraid she’d bitten her tongue mid-protest. A thin smile as devoid of pleasure as it was of mercy pulled at the corners of his lips.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Do you think Alfor was just too nice to tell even a slaver and despot to go to hell and never set foot on his planet? What do you think they were doing if not negotiating something?”

“That’s not fair, Lotor.” The gleam of tears in her eyes belied her heated tone.

“No, it’s not. Neither was what happened to Arus—don’t think for a second I’m trying to say your father went asking for trouble, or that your people deserved what happened to them. But that our parents knew each other at least well enough to bear grudges is a fact. One which I’d rather you heard from me than my father—and he _will_ throw anything you’re blissfully ignorant of in your face just to watch you flinch, Allura. Because while you’re reeling from pain and anger he can direct your every move. Just as he did to me with threatening to destroy you and Arus.”

He watched her small fists clench and unclench in her lap while she fought to tame her emotions. How much they differed from each other yet how much they had in common. Lotor needlessly smoothed the fabric of his trousers again and again, divided between the urge to offer comfort through reaching out to her and the fear of overstepping his bounds as usual.

“I can’t remember enough. I was just too young.” While a touch of bitterness curled the edges of Allura’s words, she mostly sounded tired. “There’s so much I barely remember. So many things I’ll never know about my own people—my own family. But there’s no use whining about it, is there? What’s gone is bound to stay that way. And you haven’t lied to me about anything else since I got here.” A miffed look added a caveat to that statement. “Except about having a harem maybe. They aren’t your…your property, are they? Those women I met earlier?”

Lotor congratulated himself on keeping a mostly straight face. “My apologies. It’s an old joke among the nobility: keeping a roster of assassins, spies, and other agents while pretending they’re lovers or various household staff. No, the priestesses follow me by choice and a set of complex customs understood fully only by them. The other women I picked up from different situations either because they had a useful skill set already or, quite simply, they wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t intervened.”

“Like Romelle.”

He bowed his head a fraction, heart skipping a beat at the lack of skepticism in her tone. “Like Romelle.”

“You honestly never forced yourself on her?”

“Never. We didn’t even have a consenting physical relationship. For one, she’d just lost her father and brother, and two, she despises me. For all that Pollux wasn’t innocent in its dealings with the empire, I can’t say I blame her. While I did save her life, it cost her reputation and throne. I couldn’t very well just send her back home without my father turning his rage back on Pollux, so I pretended to be infatuated with her resemblance to you.” It hadn’t been difficult to do since he _had_ been amazed at first…but any possible interest from either party had died once they’d gotten to talking. “I said nothing to quell rumors that she shared my bed, whether willingly or not. I even treated her like chattel in public to downplay her importance, backhanding her once or twice. Of course, by that point she was a skilled enough fighter to deflect a rehearsed blow and fall to the ground without injury.” She hadn’t needed to feign her disgust or scorn for the situation at least. “Finally, after the whole debacle with the comet—remind me to apologize profusely to you for _that_ one of these days—there came an opportunity to let her escape with your friend Sven.”

Allura remained quiet for a minute, staring down at her stilled hands. Digesting the fact that the similarities between her and her cousin ran to much more than just looks. It didn’t seem plausible that he could astronomically fuck things up with two women from the same family in such overlapping ways, yet he’d pulled it off. He was nothing if not a master of defying the odds.

“Would you have done anything with Romelle if she’d liked you?”

His princess overflowed with surprises tonight. Scratching his chin, Lotor considered the question.

“No. As I said, she was grief-stricken and any personal entanglement would have ended in disaster. And even though you might share some traits, Romelle isn’t you, Allura.”

Her eyes flicked up at that, piercing and bright, before dipping down and hiding behind her lashes again. “Why me in the first place? I’ve never understood. I’ve been told I’m pretty, and I can see that, but having met some of the women you work with I seriously doubt a pretty face is a new concept for you. Women who are brave and fight either. So, what is it? Finishing what your father started by conquering me as well as my planet? Do I remind you of your mother somehow?”

Slipping into the chair across from her, Lotor rested his elbows on the table, fingers buried in his hair. “My mind did try to make connections between you two in the beginning, but I soon realized the resemblances are passing. It’s…difficult to articulate. When I saw you for the first time—”

“The time you showed up to challenge Keith to a duel. A duel you had to cheat at to win, I might add.”

“How kind of you to keep score, my sweet.”

Catching hints of his own smirk reflected back at him had to count as cruel and unusual punishment. “You’re welcome.”

“As I was saying…”when I saw you for the first time it felt like I’d been struck by lightning. No, don’t roll your eyes—I’m perfectly serious. It wasn’t just your beauty, you’re right, though you have enough to turn every head in a room. It wasn’t only the commanding posture you took as you ordered me to leave Arus either.” He paused to allow himself a moment to bask in the glory of making her blush a record number of times for one sitting. “I couldn’t define what drew me to you so intensely. I still can’t, if you want the truth. But the more I come to know you, the more…I can’t say ‘stronger’ because I doubt that’s possible, but maybe ‘refined’.” He checked the word against his impressions and nodded. “The more refined the need to be near you becomes. Like learning the details of your personality and preferences helps balance it somehow.”

“You mean seeing me as a person makes it harder to demand I be your slave? Imagine that.” But her face remained inflamed.

Lotor tilted his head. “Are you referring to the time shortly after I took over Yurak’s job when I demanded you in exchange for Arus’ safety? Just to be clear, I _was_ bluffing.”

“I know that _now_ , sure. But then I thought you wouldn’t bat an eyelash at obliterating us.”

“Is that why you jumped into Blue Lion and crashed right through the side of my base? Instead of, say, forming Voltron with your teammates and driving me off?”

He’d meant it in jest, but sweet Tyberi, the redder she turned the more his instincts said he’d stumbled onto a cache of unspoken things she’d tried to hide even from herself.

“I also seem to recall you making a promise to the effect of ‘serving me well’ if I left Arus alone.” Best to press an advantage while an opponent was off balance.

Her head snapped his way again and she slammed her small fists on her thighs. “Oh, shut up already! I was upset that day after not being able to control Black Lion _and_ being attacked by you _and_ getting told off for it by my own team, okay? No wonder I was having crazy thoughts!”

“Like running into the arms of a handsome Drule prince for comfort?”

Though her eyes might have matched her Lion’s element there was nothing cool or calm about the way she glowered at him. Unable to help himself, Lotor laughed. For the sheer pleasure of being in her presence, joking about past memories that could have just as easily haunted them both forever. For the first time in his life, he could look back and see, despite the darkness clouding wide swaths of the bigger picture, how lucky he’d actually been.

“If you’re done having a chuckle at my expense, I’ve made my final decision about what I want from you.”

Like a switch had been flipped, Lotor’s laughter stopped. The slight, snarling uptick to the corner of Allura’s mouth didn’t bode well. Resolved, however, he set his hands in his lap and kept his spine stiff in the chair.

“I await your judgement.” He only gulped a tiny bit after saying it.

Her eyes shrank down to slits…then slid away. She mumbled something too short and low to catch. Lotor hesitated, wedged between antipathy and hope.

“I’m sorry, Allura. I, um, couldn’t hear you.”

That earned him an irritated glare, perhaps from her thinking he was teasing her. When she spoke again, though, her words came out distinct.

“Ask me. One last time.”

It took a moment for his brain to decode her meaning. And another to stop himself from asking her to repeat it a third time. Because, really, he was already a fool who’d needed to be told twice.

Lucky. Lucky beyond belief.

In one flowing motion, Lotor slid out of the chair, went down on a knee, drew his sword, and presented the grip to Allura. She shied away like he was trying to get her to pet a dangerous animal.

“What do I need that for?”

“An old tradition, that’s all. Usually, a woman would use her own _sahj,_ but…here, take it.”

Frowning, she did. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Hold it to my throat or another vital target while I ask. If your answer is ‘yes’, go ahead and lower the sword. If ‘no’, maim or kill me as you see fit.”

She gawped at him. “Are _all_ Drule customs morbid and violent?”

He dared to let his lips suggest a smile. “Only the important ones. Besides, the person proposing is usually sure of a favorable response beforehand.”

“Oh, and are you so sure of my answer?”

“Well, I figure if you didn’t shoot me at that bridge I broke over the river when you had the chance I have a decent shot at survival here.”

“Yet another questionable decision on my part,” she muttered, raising the sword’s tip to the front of his neck.

Lotor took a few breaths to center himself, letting the heat and tingle of energy from the blade remind him of everything at stake. Ready, he looked up at his battered, scowling princess.

“Allura Altarus, heir to the throne of Arus, warrior of Blue Lion and Voltron, will you accept me as your husband?”

A drop of sweat tickled the underside of his chin as the sword’s tip hovered less than a finger’s width from his throat. Cool air rushed in and touched his skin a second later when the blade retreated. Allura huffed a little sigh of exasperation, staring at the drooping weapon.

“I must be completely insane, but yes. I agree to marry you.”

Heedless of her being armed and annoyed, Lotor surged forward and kissed her directly on the mouth. Allura’s body went rigid at first. Given the circumstances, or maybe realizing his hands on her shoulders were being as gentle as his lips on hers, she unwound a notch. Not relaxed but not panicked either. Realizing he’d pushed his good fortune past the limit far enough for one day, Lotor released her. He sat back on his heels, gazing up at his princess—his _betrothed._

Allura, for her part, didn’t appear thrilled, although that hardly came as a shock. She moved restlessly in her seat, not meeting his eyes while she offered the sword back to him. “Here, I guess I don’t need this anymore. Um, and I suppose there will be plenty of details to hash out between Arus and the empire before we get to any sort of ceremony—which will be a mountain of work all on its own. Legalities, citizenships, territory rights, trade agreements, those sorts of things. Then, if Zarkon’s true to his word for once, reparations will have to be calculated, the economy resuscitated, housing built, infrastructure reinstated, education curriculums updated, posts fill—”

Reaching out to cross the barrier of awkward formality she’d been erecting between them, Lotor took one of her hands in both of his. She fell silent, still looking away.

“Yes, there’s much to do,” he said. “And I want to help with all of it—or however much you allow me to. I’ve already promised you the riches of the galaxy, and that stands. You’ll use it wisely to assist your planet, if I’ve learned one thing about you.” He squeezed her hand slightly. “Now I’ll make you another promise. Though I can’t say whether anything about Korrinoth, the people in the empire, or me will ever be included in this, I swear to help you protect the things you value and love. Your enemies are my enemies. Your allies my allies. Your goals my goals. Whatever the future holds for you or Arus, I promise you won’t have to face it alone.”

At long last she looked at him. Not fully—out of the corner of her eye. Assessing. Weighing his words. Finally, the smallest of smiles crept out onto her features. Leaning forward quickly, as if afraid she’d change her mind, she planted a brief kiss at the corner of his mouth. Her cheeks had lit up again when she pulled away, but her eyes remained on him.

“I appreciate that, Lotor.”

Since he didn’t trust himself to speak without being a grand idiot, he settled for nodding.

Allura hugged herself. “Um, if it’s okay, can we leave the hammering out of details for tomorrow? I’m a bit worn out after all the excitement.”

Understatement of the ages. To be honest, he was in no state to draft a marriage alliance either right then, though euphoria rather than fatigue inhibited his reasoning skills. “Yes, of course.” Rising, he offered her a hand up.

After a split second, Allura accepted. Her stare fell to her feet, making it hard to read her expression. “Um, Lotor? Will you do me a favor?” She’d reverted to mumbling, but he managed to make out enough to understand.

“Say the word and it’s yours.”

“Will you…stay? At least for a little while?”

Breath didn’t just catch in his throat, it stuck, making him sputter and cough. Luck had given him a windfall with her agreement to marry him, but to move their arrangement to this stage already…

Her head shot up, cheeks ablaze. “No, I don’t mean—! I’m not suggesting—! I was just thinking I’d feel better with someone here, in case—” Her hand went to the synthskin around her throat.

All right, so definitely not getting lucky in the manner first thought. Yet to think, after all the tainted history behind them and all the treacherous terrain ahead, that he’d be the person she asked to stand guard and make her feel safer while she slept…That counted as nothing short of a miracle.

He gave her hand a second squeeze, hoping his heart didn’t explode out of his chest at its current rate of expansion. “I’ll be right out here on the sofa if you need anything.”

While still blushing furiously, her posture eased. She gave him a smile he’d never seen on her face before, not for him. A shy, sincere smile. One belonging to a young woman who had just met someone she didn’t know well yet but maybe would like to in the future. “Thank you. Good night, Lotor.”

For once, letting her go didn’t prove too difficult. “Good night, Allura.”


End file.
